


Bridging The Gap

by korlaena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief emotional abuse (not between H/D), Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 69,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korlaena/pseuds/korlaena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post war Harry struggles with depression, and after graduating he takes a year away from England to find himself. On his return, the last thing he expects is to find Draco irrevocably intertwined in his life. Despite their best efforts they can't seem to escape each other, so Harry and Draco will have to try to find new ways to get along. But as usual, nothing is easy between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> July 4, 2017 EDIT: Hey guys, I reworked the summary to hopefully make it a little better. Sorry for any confusion this may cause.

Harry isn’t sure what he expected after the war, maybe that things would finally settle down and he could relax a bit, but this, of course, is not what happens. 

He had hoped that with the prophecy and his part in it fulfilled that he could start making decisions for himself, and he wouldn’t have anything more required of him. He tells himself that this is ridiculous and juvenile and of course just because Voldemort is dead that doesn’t mean his responsibilities would end, but knowing that isn’t a comfort and doesn’t make those responsibilities any easier to handle. There is always something he has to do, funerals, trials, repairing Hogwarts, taking care of Teddy, going back to school to finish his last year and get his N.E.W.T.s. He spends the year after the war doing all these things because they are _expected_ and _required_.

And through all this something strange has seeped into his flesh and blood and bones, something he hasn’t ever felt before and doesn’t quite understand. Ever since his death and subsequent killing of Voldemort nothing has felt the same. That peaceful, beautiful experience in the train station was slowly fading from his sense memory and steadily being replaced with a sense of foreboding. He had died. He had been dead. It was a strange thing to know, a strange thing to experience. And now that he had the time to sit and think about it, he realizes that something inside him has shifted. Everything seems somehow muted, like a fog had seeped into his mind and made everything else feel sort of intangible and far away.

Harry can’t place exactly when this happened or why, and the more time that passes the harder he finds it is to remember what things used to feel like. Has he always felt this way? Is this normal? Do other people feel like this? Is this because he died? Is this because he killed Voldemort? Is this how he would feel for the rest of his life?

He first noticed it during the funerals. Each one was emotional and trying in its own way, but the more they went on the harder Harry found it to get emotional about them. It felt like a faucet being turned off slowly, less and less emotions were coming through until during the last funeral, Tonk’s funeral, Harry had the strange realization that he wasn’t feeling anything at all. Intellectually he knew that her death was horrible, it was too early, too violent, and left her son motherless. Like him. He should feel something more than he was, but he just felt numb. 

It’s fine, Harry tells himself. There’s nothing wrong with him, probably. It’s just because he’s been to so many funerals lately, and cried more than he’s ever cried in his life, and felt so much pain in the last month that it would be only natural for him to try and shut off some of those emotions for a while. No one seems to notice Harry’s lack of tears and he thinks it’s fine because Hermione probably cried enough for the both of them anyway. 

Next are the trials, one of the few things Harry thinks he’s actually looking forward to. Maybe it feels like closure, like being able to finish this dark chapter of his life—which happens to actually be all of his life, thus far—and move on to better things. It’s one of the few things he’s put planning into.

Harry is only too happy to testify at each of the Death Eater’s trials, giving witness to each crime he’d seen. But mostly it’s the Malfoy’s trials he’s been waiting for. 

Lucius was always a malicious bastard, and Harry has no qualms with giving his full testimony to put him away as long as possible. He gets sentenced to Azkaban for life, and Harry believes he deserves it.

Narcissa he owes his life to, and he says as much at her trial. She saved his life, and with his testimony she is given a sentence of three years probation following six months in Azkaban. Harry wishes she wouldn’t have to go to Azkaban at all, had hoped his support would be enough for that, but still—it is a very light sentence considering.

Draco’s trial is the one Harry has spent the most time thinking about and planning for. He’s thought long and hard about everything that has gone on between them, and he finds that he just doesn’t hate Malfoy like he used to. He realizes that maybe Malfoy was just as trapped by his fate as Harry was.

By the time the trials came around Harry had become so accustomed to his lack of feeling that when he feels the first real flicker of emotion since the funerals it hits Harry like a sack of bricks, and it happens during Malfoy’s trial. 

He is giving his testimony when Malfoy looks up and they make eye contact for the first time. It’s a shock to Harry—he had been watching Malfoy throughout the trial thus far, but Malfoy had never once looked up, Harry wasn’t even sure Malfoy knew he was there. It’s when Harry is recounting how Draco protected him at the Manor that he looks up and Harry’s eyes are instantly drawn to his. 

A sudden burst of anger and frustration hit him as soon as he realizes that Malfoy is shocked. It’s not gratitude or even cool understanding, but surprise and confusion that play across Malfoy’s face. Harry stops mid sentence and has to consciously keep his knees from buckling as white hot anger rushes up his legs to settle uncomfortably in his chest. 

Harry can’t believe Malfoy’s reaction, did he really think that after everything Harry would come in here and screw him over? That he wouldn’t want to give him a fair chance? 

“Mr. Potter?” The Chief Warlock asks, interrupting Harry’s train of thoughts, making him start and look up at him. He has to quickly school his expression into something more neutral so that he is not seen scowling at Malfoy while trying to convince the Wizengamot of his innocence.

“Sorry,” Harry says, coughing and then continuing. He looks back at Malfoy, but he is not looking at Harry anymore, which makes him irritated.

Malfoy avoids time spent in Azkaban, given a sentence of two years probation with 500 hours of community service to be spent helping the repairs at Hogwarts over the summer, and the requirement that he finish his education.

After the trial is over Harry looks for Malfoy, and upon spotting the white blond hair floating up the stairs through a sea of other wizards and witches Harry scrambles to catch up to him. 

“Malfoy!” Harry calls when he gets close enough and sees Malfoy stop and turn to look at him apprehensively.

Harry approaches him and hesitates a second, thinking Malfoy might say something, but he doesn’t, so Harry jumps in. “I’ve got your wand.”

Malfoy’s eyes widen in surprise, once again making Harry’s stomach twist with irritation, but he pushes it down. Harry reaches into his robes and pulls out the hawthorn wand, looking at it a second before looking back up at Malfoy and holding it out to him.

Harry notices a short flicker of fear in Malfoy’s eyes when he pulls the wand out, but chooses to ignore it. “Thanks for letting me use it,” Harry says, suddenly becoming very aware of the fact that Malfoy didn’t really _let_ Harry use it, but he pushes on through the awkwardness anyway, “I got mine back, so I don’t need yours anymore.”

Harry gestures with the wand for Malfoy to take it, and Malfoy looks down at it, his hand coming up cautiously, then striking out quickly—snatching the wand from Harry as if worried he might pull it away at the last second. 

Harry frowns, but he watches as Malfoy’s expression softens for just a moment as he holds his wand again, looking at it in wonder, then he glances back at Harry and instantly his face becomes cold and neutral. 

Malfoy opens his mouth to say something, then seems to reconsider and closes it, frowning. 

Harry frowns, shifting his weight to his other foot, he feels like he should say or do something, but instead he waits.

Malfoy tries again, clearing his throat and then saying, “Thank you, Potter.” He looks like he wants to leave, but he hesitates, furrowing his brow and regarding Harry as if seeing him for the first time. 

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, feeling a bit uncomfortable under Malfoy’s scrutiny. He shifts his weight again, but forces himself to maintain eye contact. Harry had noticed how bad Malfoy looked upon entering the trial, stretched thin and white as a sheet, but seeing him up close now Harry realizes that Draco doesn’t just look bad, he looks horrible. He somehow looks skinnier, pointier, and paler than ever. He has dark circles under his eyes, and Harry can’t help comparing him to sixth year and thinking about how drawn he had looked then too.

Malfoy looks like he wants to say something, but then the edge of his mouth twitches down into a small frown and he appears to change his mind about it, turning on his heel and walking away.

For some inexplicable reason Harry gets the urge to follow him. But he doesn’t.

\- ~ -

Harry hides away in Grimmauld Place, working on various projects until Hermione returns from Australia with her parents. Once she is ready, Hermione, Ron and Harry head to Hogwarts to help with repairs. Harry isn’t exactly happy to be back in the Wizarding world, the constant onslaught of people wanting to shake his hand, thank him, ask him for an autograph, tell him their stories of the war, and so forth is exhausting. The teary-eyed confessions bother him and he doesn't know how to respond. He tries to fix his expression into something that resembles empathy, but isn’t quite sure if he is doing it right. He can’t be sure when he doesn’t actually feel the emotion he is trying to express.

Mercifully McGonagall seems to notice his discomfort and assigns him solo repair jobs in the far edges of the castle.

Harry throws himself into the work and really enjoys it. It is easy to forget how uncomfortably empty he feels all the time while he is moving and has something to focus his energy on. He finds satisfaction in learning the new repair spells, working the stone and wood, and being able to put things back as they should be.

He wonders if something of it has to do with the fact that he himself feels broken, and thinks that maybe fixing Hogwarts will somehow help him to repair himself. Harry hasn’t really felt anything since he saw Malfoy at the trial, and of course isn’t that just lovely; apparently he’s so dead inside that the only person who can get a rise out of him now is his bitter rival of seven years.

Although Harry doesn’t really think that he hates Malfoy anymore. He’s had a lot of time to think things over and has realizes that much of the animosity he had felt toward Malfoy seemed to have melted away with the rest of his feelings.

During the summer he sees Malfoy around Hogwarts every once in awhile, but they never speak. Harry almost wants to go up to him and incite a fight, just so that he can feel something again, but his better judgement wins out and he decides to stay away from him. Besides, if he were to feel something again he certainly doesn’t want it to be about Draco sodding Malfoy.

Harry tries not to think about it too much. Tries, but there isn’t much else to think about when he’s alone in some far corner of the castle working for hours on end.

Harry can’t help it if he notices that Malfoy is often absent at meals, and that when he is there he is normally alone and appears rather subdued. It just annoys Harry, that’s all. It doesn’t seem right that the prat should be such a bully and a drama queen for years on end and then suddenly pull out this quiet, polite act. 

“It’s probably hard for him to be here, Harry. I can’t imagine too many people are happy to have him here after the part he played in the war. Maybe it’s his way of coping, just drop it and leave him be,” Hermione advises after Harry brings up Malfoy’s behavior again.

“Maybe it’s part of his probation, you know, ‘don’t be a prat,” Ron puts in.

“Ron,” Hermione says with an exasperated sigh, “The Wizengamot isn’t going to make ‘don’t be a prat’ part of the terms of his probation. I’m sure he’s under very close scrutiny to make sure he follows school rules, and Wizarding law. There are plenty of people who would be happy to crucify him if he is seen to be causing trouble.”

Of course. Harry had been so busy being angry about Malfoy not making him angry that he hadn’t even considered that. Malfoy was on probation, of course he couldn’t make trouble. Harry thought that that should make him happy, knowing Malfoy wouldn’t be bothering him with any of his old schemes, but strangely it just makes him feel sort of disappointed. It seems rather pathetic, the thought of Malfoy hiding away in the Slytherin dungeons and avoiding people. It wasn’t at all like how Harry was avoiding people, he told himself. Totally different.

“Yeah, but part of his probation is that he has to help with repairs. I haven’t seen him working on the castle once, have you?” Harry pushes. It’s just weird. He knows Malfoy is here, yet he hardly ever sees him.

“Yes, well, you haven’t exactly been very available either, have you?” Hermione says stiffly.

Harry frowns. It’s true he had sort of been avoiding everyone, including Ron and Hermione, it was just weird and frustrating to be around them when they were so happy and he was so miserable. It didn’t feel right to infringe on their happiness with his lack of it. He knew they were worried about him and he was trying to minimize the damage. “You know McGonagall has been putting me on assignments that are…” Harry stalls when it strikes him how Hermione had avoided answering his question, “Hang on, do you mean to say that you _have_ seen Malfoy working?”

“Harry,” Hermione sighs, “Of _course_ I’ve seen him working. That’s what he’s here for.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry can’t believe her. Of all the times he’s complained about Malfoy slacking and never seeing him around the castle she never once stopped to correct him.

“I didn’t say anything because I knew you would be weird about it.”

“ ‘Weird about it’? What do you mean ‘weird about it’?”

“Mate, it’s like sixth year all over again. It’s all, ‘Malfoy this,’ and ‘Malfoy that,’” Ron says, grimacing.

“What? That—that’s not true,” Harry says lamely.

“It is true,” Hermione jumps back in, “We hardly ever see you anymore, and when we do all you want to do is complain about Malfoy. I thought you had decided to put that conflict behind you.”

“I have!” Harry insists, “It’s just…” While Harry is trying to figure out a way to explain himself without actually explaining himself Ginny joins them and sits down next to Harry.

“Hey,” she says and smiles at him, kissing his cheek before reaching for a platter of roast beef. “What are we talking about?”

“Harry’s obsession with Malfoy,” Ron says around a mouthful of potatoes.

Ginny frowns and gives Harry a look, sighing through her nose before turning back to dishing up her food.

Recently things had sort of naturally picked back up with Ginny. They didn’t talk about it at all during or after Fred’s funeral, but she was ready to approach him again after they were back at Hogwarts. Ginny wanted to start dating again so Harry agreed and then they snogged, which he supposed meant they were together now. It seemed the thing to do. He had loved her, he thought, before he broke. Just because he didn’t feel it now doesn’t mean it wasn’t right anymore or didn’t still exist in him somewhere. He just needed a bit of time, then he would be fine and things would be back to normal. 

But currently things were not normal, or at least not what he thought was normal, he couldn’t really be sure anymore. Now when he smelled that familiar, floral scent on her it didn’t stir anything in him. When she smiled at him, or kissed him, or even when he saw her hanging out with Dean it didn’t affect him at all. The beast that had once existed in him seemed to have disappeared along with his feelings, leaving this great, nebulous void inside him in its stead.

After that conversation Harry tries to make more of an effort with his friends. Harry had been spending a lot of time sleeping in and skipping meals. He found that it was hard to drag himself out of bed and he didn’t have much of an appetite anymore, but he decides that he should at least pretend to be normal, for the sake of his friends, so he starts getting out of bed earlier and coming to breakfast more often. He has to consciously bite his tongue when he wants to say something about Malfoy, which becomes especially hard after watching the Marauder's Map and seeing that at one point Hermione worked with Malfoy for three days of repairs. 

They were fixing the stone guardians that sat on the Eastern turrets, and while she spoke often of how complex the charms were that animated them and how difficult it was to put them back properly, she never once mentioned that she had been working with Malfoy on the project. Harry wanted so badly to ask her about it, he wanted to know what they talked about, if anything. He wanted to know if Malfoy was being a prat or if he was actually being nice to her, but he knew that would open up all sorts of questions about how he knew they had worked together, and Harry wasn’t prepared to answer them.

\- ~ - 

Before he knows it summer ends and the start of term begins. The castle is bustling with students and feels alive again, like it used to. Harry thinks that maybe he would enjoy it, if only it weren’t so ruddy awful. Suddenly Harry finds that he has a much harder time finding places to be alone and is constantly assaulted with gifts and gratitude, students wanting his autograph or to talk to him about the war, asking him what really went down in the Forbidden Forest or what it was like to battle Voldemort. Harry vanishes more chocolates than he ever thought he would, in constant fear of being dosed with love potions.

The Prophet has been running articles nonstop about him since the end of the war, and it feels a bit like fourth year all over again—nothing in his life is private anymore, and they write everything about him from the truth to wild speculation. 

The one consolation is that no one seems to have noticed or reported on the emptiness that existed in him now. He declines interview after interview and soon the Prophet postulates that he has become a taciturn recluse suffering post traumatic stress from the war. While it hits a little too close to home at least they don’t know what Harry is truly feeling, how apathetic he has become to everything, and in the end it is just one article among many going on about what is wrong with Harry Potter and what is right with Harry Potter. Like all the other articles it passes and Harry finds it hard to care what people think about him now.

Harry has stopped reading the Prophet altogether, just not caring and figuring the sensationalism will die down eventually. One morning after they are a couple months into term Hermione is reading her Daily Prophet over breakfast as usual when she makes a quiet, “Oh.”

“Hm?” Ron inquires, but doesn’t take his focus off his eggs.

“Malfoy is in the paper,” Hermione says.

Harry’s head snaps up. “Malfoy?” he asks before he can stop himself. Hermione glances over at him, but says nothing as he leans over to look at the paper in her hands. 

**MALFOYS MAKING MYSTERIOUS MODIFICATIONS TO MANOR**

**Draco Malfoy, son of convicted Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, and heir to his estate has recently started mysterious renovations on his family home. While Malfoy is supposed to be attending school at Hogwarts, as per the terms of his probation, he has been seen at the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire bringing in workmen and building materials, as well as removing furniture and possessions from the building. When asked about the project, Malfoy declined to comment. This behavior has led to speculation that Malfoy is removing dark objects from the house and covering evidence of war crimes from the estate. It is a well documented fact that He Who Must Not Be Named resided in the Malfoy Manor during the war, and while**

The way Hermione has the paper folded doesn’t allow him to read the rest of the article, so he focuses instead on the photo. Harry furrows his brow and watches the picture of Malfoy escorting workmen up the Manor drive, floating large pallets of wood and tile along with them. The picture is through the Manor’s gates and obviously taken from a bit of a distance, but the Malfoy scowl is unmistakable as at the end of the picture he turns and appears to spot the photographer before the photo restarts its cycle. 

“He’s remodeling the Manor?” Harry asks to no one in particular, “When has he been doing that? He’s been here, hasn’t he? I’ve seen him in class.” One perk of the school year starting was that Harry had been seeing a lot more of Malfoy lately, they were in the same Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts classes and now Harry finally had an excuse to look at him regularly. Not that Malfoy ever looked back. On occasion he would look up and catch Harry’s eye, but he would always look away almost instantly and appeared to be determinedly ignoring Harry.

It was infuriating, and it was amazing because it was infuriating. For a brief moment Harry would feel something other than that vacuous hollow inside him, and it was becoming dangerously addictive.

“Maybe he goes on the weekends,” Hermione offers, tossing the paper unceremoniously onto the table, “And anyway, it’s rubbish, this. As if the Aurors wouldn’t have already searched the Manor attic to foundation. He’s allowed to renovate his house, this isn’t newsworthy.”

“You think he’d look happier to have his picture taken, pointy git always did love attention,” Ron muses, then turns back to his breakfast.

Harry frowns, resisting the temptation to snatch up the newspaper and read the article again and in full. He also decides not to ask how Malfoy is getting all of his school work done if he’s taking trips to Wiltshire to remodel his house on the side. The eighth year workload had been insane thus far. The material they were expected to learn was more advanced and took more time than anything they’d studied before, and the amount of homework they were given seemed to have doubled since sixth year. Harry supposes it’s to prepare them for their N.E.W.T.s, but he still has a hard time getting through it when all he wants to do is sleep.

Getting out of bed in the morning has become more of a struggle the further they have gotten into the school year. Part of it, Harry supposes, is the fact that he has a hard time falling asleep, and so tends to lie awake at night for long periods before finally dozing off.

He’s taken to watching the Marauder’s Map and can’t stop himself from searching out “Draco Malfoy” on it. Since reading the article he has noticed that Malfoy disappears out of the castle during the weekends. Before when he checked the map and didn’t see him Harry assumed he just couldn’t find him in the sea names on the page, but ever since the article he’d been tracking Malfoy’s movements more closely. 

Now Harry knew that Malfoy left the school grounds after class every Friday and came back mid afternoon every Sunday. He also noticed that Malfoy took almost daily trips up to the Owlery. What is he going up to the Owlery so much for? How much post does one man really have to send?

Harry can’t help but associate the behaviour with Lucius—tirelessly greasing palms, manipulating, and blackmailing anyone important. Malfoy is up to something. Harry knows it, and he wants to find out what it is. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when he starts following Malfoy. He has all sorts of excuses to explain away his obsessive behavior.

He tries several times to intercept Malfoy at the Owlery or on his way there, but Malfoy seems to have perfected his avoidance skills. Sometimes Harry’s timing is off and he just missed him, sometimes Harry knows Malfoy was there a moment earlier but can’t find him and wonders whether he has gotten his own invisibility cloak or has learned some disillusionment charms. Sometimes Harry inexplicably runs into a horrible distraction and watches as Malfoy slips away down the hall while Harry is stuck dealing with a pack of rabid fourth year girls, all giggling and trying to get him to eat various deserts of dubious origin. That one was particularly awful and Harry can’t help wondering exactly how Malfoy worked it out. Harry thinks that Malfoy is avoiding him, but it’s not until he resorts to using a Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder to lose Harry that he knows for sure that Malfoy is avoiding him. 

It takes three weeks before Harry finally catches him. Malfoy almost lost him when he took a shortcut on the third floor that Harry didn’t know about. Apparently the hidden hallway was only accessible when one of the moving staircases was facing a certain direction, and he had to stop to check the map before figuring it out. Harry hurries to catch up and takes the steps up to the Owlery two at a time, then stops in the doorway as he sees Malfoy sending off one of the school owls.

Malfoy turns and stops when he sees Harry, his eyes widening momentarily in surprise before a cold, neutral expression falls over his face like a wall. 

“What is it you’re doing here, Malfoy?” Harry asks, and he can see the muscles in Malfoy’s jaw clenching.

“Sending a letter, as it happens,” Malfoy drawls with feigned boredom, “I can’t imagine what other torrid activity you think I might be doing in the _Owlery_.”

“And what’s so pressing that’s got you sending post everyday?” Harry gets a scowl for that.

“I don’t see how that is any business of yours.”

“Why so secret, Malfoy? What are you hiding?”

“Actually, Potter, I was simply minding my own business before you barged in, something maybe you should take a lesson from,” Malfoy snaps and takes a step to leave, which is also consequently a step towards Harry, and in a flash he’s drawn his wand and pointed it at Malfoy. He’s not sure why he does it exactly, it’s just become a reflex, he supposes.

Malfoy inhales sharply, his fingers twitch toward his wand, but he doesn’t draw it. Fear flickers through his eyes a moment before being replaced with irritation. “Really, Potter? You’re going to hex me for sending a letter?” Malfoy crosses his arms over his chest.

They glare at each other a moment, but Malfoy makes no move to draw his wand, hands firmly gripping his arms crossed over his chest. Harry lowers his wand.

Malfoy huffs and starts walking again, buffeting his shoulder against Harry’s to get through the doorway Harry is standing in. 

Malfoy passes Harry and starts down the stairs, but then he appears to hesitate, stopping and looking back at him. “The war is over, Potter,” he says. 

Harry expects the words to be filled with venom, as they usually are, but they come out in an oddly soft tone he’d never thought Malfoy to possess. Words fail him and he can’t think up any sort of response in time.

Malfoy regards him for a second longer before turning and promptly leaving.

Harry is left feeling a bit like a jerk. Something in Malfoy’s tone makes Harry question his suspicions about him.

After the Owlery incident Harry is too embarrassed to physically follow Malfoy anymore, though he still finds himself following his movements on the Marauder’s Map. He’s also started reading the Prophet again, casually scanning it for any more articles about Malfoy while pretending that that isn’t what he’s doing. There are a few more articles that come out about him, but mostly they don’t say anything new or groundbreaking, just more about the continuing work on the Manor and potential changes being made to it, along with outrageous speculation as to why.

After a few weeks of reading the Prophet Harry is rewarded with a front page spread that has Malfoy in it. It is an article covering Narcissa’s release from Azkaban. It speculates on her history with the Death Eaters, whether she should have got a longer sentence, and what exactly transpired between her and Harry Potter to make him defend her at her trial. It then goes on about her Death Eater son and his history of violence. Most of it is garbage. What really interests Harry is the photo, a photo of Malfoy escorting Narcissa outside the prison. Narcissa looks so thin and weak as Malfoy helps her down the entrance stairs, and Harry can’t help feeling a strange sort of sadness for her. He watches Malfoy’s face and can tell he cares a lot for his mother, his expression soft and worried as he helps her, one hand on her back and the other holding her arm. Then in the photo Malfoy looks up and sees that they are being photographed and his expression instantly contorts into rage. Malfoy charges at the photographer, yanking the camera away before the photo resets and he is back to being the gentle, concerned boy walking his mother down the stairs.

Harry cuts out the article and keeps it.

\- ~ -

The farther they get into the school year the more Harry starts to feel like he doesn’t belong here. It is a weird realization to have, since Hogwarts has always felt like home to him, and in some ways it still does, but he has a hard time focusing on and caring about school. He knows that he should finish his education and get his N.E.W.T.s, but he can’t help wondering if he actually wants what he is working toward. He’s enjoyed learning the new spells and more advanced magic, but doing it for the sake of a future career doesn’t really interest him. He just enjoys the magic itself, learning new spells and testing his limits.

Harry feels like he’s just sort of floating along through it all without purpose, without choice. One day slides seamlessly and unmarkedly into the next without his consent, and he wants it to just stop so he can have a moment to breath, but it doesn’t. More and more he feels like he has no control over his life and a gnawing sort of hunger takes over the void inside him, telling him he doesn’t belong here and that he should be doing something, anything, more than he is. Life is too short, and his has already ended once. Is this how he’s going to spend the rest of it? Floating along, sad and empty and broken, following the path laid out for him by others. Would he ever make his own choices about his own life? Would he ever feel alive again? Was it worth it to try? Maybe he would be better off if he hadn’t left that white train station.

Harry thinks that if he hadn’t had Hermione to force him to study he might not have gotten his N.E.W.T.s, but as it is he does have Hermione and so he ends up spending the last couple months of his time at Hogwarts studying as if nothing else exists. The closer N.E.W.T.s come the more of a wreck Hermione becomes, she can hardly think or talk about anything else and she is never seen without at least three books, constantly taking notes and reviewing her work. When she’s not writing she has a quill tucked behind an ear, at the ready, and her fingers are more black and ink stained than usual. Her hair seems to get bigger and wilder the closer they get to their exams.

In comparison Harry has realized that he doesn’t really care much about his N.E.W.T.s. He knows Hermione has always been a bit crazy about school, but he thinks most students should care at least a little about their exams. Harry doesn’t, and he probably wouldn’t have studied near as much as he did if he didn’t think Hermione would hex him for slacking off. As it is, the studying pays off and Harry gets the N.E.W.T.s he needs to apply for Auror training. 

The only thing is that Harry isn’t sure whether he actually wants to be an Auror, or if he just thought so because DADA was the only subject he had been any good at and fighting dark wizards seemed to be his lot in life. He didn’t grow up in the wizarding world and he can’t say that he really knows what career possibilities there were for him. Making such important decisions about his future when he was a confused and rather distracted 15 year old seemed more and more ridiculous when he thought about it.

Around the time that they start studying in earnest is when Ginny breaks up with Harry. She says that she understands that the war took its toll on him, but Harry knows that she doesn’t actually understand and he can’t seem to make her understand. Over the school year she’s become increasingly angry and upset at the fact that their relationships hasn’t been going anywhere. She expected him to spend more time with her and less time on his own avoiding people. She expected him to be able to express his feelings for her. She expected him to care about his future. But Harry couldn’t really do any of that, so she broke up with him. 

Part of him wonders if the only reason he got together with Ginny after the war was because it was expected of him, and he’s getting really tired of doing things just because they are what’s expected.

Harry thinks he should feel upset or disappointed about the break up, but he doesn’t.

Harry thinks he should feel relief or satisfaction at finishing his education, but he doesn’t. 

As it is he just feels numb. Numb and empty except for that strange gnawing sensation that has been growing inside him—that feeling that his life is not his own, that he doesn’t have control of it, and maybe never has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my very first Drarry fic, so hopefully it's alright. I'm very excited to finally contribute to what has long been one of my top favorite ships! It's going to be a long, slow build, so get comfortable. All comments, critiques, and corrections are welcome! I'm hoping to have the next chapter up pretty soon, so keep an eye out!


	2. Chapter 2

Eight days. That’s how long Harry lasts before quitting Auror training.

Harry didn’t even really want to apply for it in the first place. He had already been feeling like he didn’t want to be an Auror, or that he should at least take some time to explore other possibilities first, but Ron was so excited about it that he couldn’t say no. Harry figured he could try it out, and then if he decided to quit at least he could say he’d given it a shot. 

Ron is so disappointed and gives him a hard time about it, he demands to know why and tries to convince him that he’s making a mistake, but Harry isn’t bothered. In fact, he feels great about it. Harry feels like it is the first real decision he’s ever made about his life and he does not regret it like he worried he might.

Once Harry has no obligations he hardly ever leaves his home. The only effort he makes of going out is when he visits Teddy and Andromeda on the weekends. At first Harry, Ron and Hermione would go out to the pub and hangout, but that soon became overwhelming with the amount of attention he would get. Harry starts avoiding people by hiding behind the excuse that he doesn’t want to be harassed.

Harry hates his current existence. He feels so _wrong_. He always feels so tired and disinterested, even the thought of Quidditch doesn’t excite him. He hates not feeling anything. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve and his emotions have helped guide him and keep him alive. Dumbledore believed his capacity to love was what made him special, what made him capable of defeating Voldemort. He feels like it’s an insult to Dumbledore that he should feel this way now. It’s so frustrating. 

He doesn’t feel like the same person. Harry Potter is caring and passionate, open to his feelings and capable of expressing them easily. That was not who he was anymore. He didn’t know who he was. Maybe everything that had been Harry Potter had stayed in that train station, and what came back was just an empty husk of the man. He felt so broken.

Harry still has nightmares of the war, but the worst are the ones where he looks in the mirror and sees Voldemort. _What if?_ The nightmare always leaves the question running around his mind, keeping him up at night. What if the killing curse had damaged his soul, not the Horcrux? What if he still had a bit of Voldemort living inside him? What if that was why he felt this way?

\- ~ -

It’s mid August now and almost two months had passed since they graduated from Hogwarts. Hermione had cottoned on to his problem long ago and had been trying to help. She’d spent a month bringing him books on depression and PTSD, and trying to convince him to see a Mind Healer or a Muggle therapist. The books went unread and Harry refused to see anyone about his problem. Lately Hermione had been trying a different approach, making excuses for her and Ron to visit and spend more and more time with him.

Harry hates it. She doesn’t understand, no one understands. She thinks that she is being helpful with all her suggestions and solutions, but really it just makes Harry feel trapped.

“I just don’t think you should be spending so much time alone Harry, it’s not good for you,” Hermione says.

“Hermione,” Ron starts carefully, he’s concerned about Harry too, but is not quite as intense about it as Hermione, “He deserve some time to himself to relax a bit if he wants to.”

“He’s not relaxing, Ronald. He’s depressed. He has a problem and he should try to fix it!”

“Hermione, I’m _fine_. I promise. You don’t have to check in on me all the time,” Harry cuts in.

“Well, I think you should have some company at least. If not us then someone else. Maybe Andromeda can bring Teddy over, or I’m sure Neville or Luna would like to visit.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll owl them,” Harry says noncommittally for probably the third or fourth time this month.

Harry can tell Hermione doesn’t believe he actually will because her hopeful expression turns pleading. “It won’t do to cut yourself off, Harry. You should have someone, something—” She says, hesitating, then continuing, “Maybe… Maybe you could get a cat, or an owl—”

“ _No_.” Harry instantly cuts her off and she looks away, frowning nervously. One thing Harry knows for sure is that he can’t have a pet, that he was in no fit state to be charged with the care of another living being. 

An _owl_. The thought stabbed at him. He couldn’t. The thought of getting another owl made Harry feel physically ill. Hedwig was the first real family that he had ever known. When he thought no one else loved him, she did. They took care of each other, suffered through summers at the Dursley’s together, she was the one consistent thing in his life that he could always count on. Until she died. Harry could never replace her, he never wanted to.

“Okay, not a pet then. Maybe…” Hermione tries again tentatively after a strained silence, “I’m sure Kreacher would be happy—”

“No,” Harry says again, still firm, but not as sharply as before.

“I’m worried about you, Harry.” That draws his eyes back to hers, and he can see the concern there.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He didn’t know how to fix it though. Harry just was. That’s all he was anymore. He just existed in this strange, numb place, his emotions not capable of stretching much farther than frustration or sadness.

“Don’t be,” Hermione says, pressing her lips together, “I just want to help.”

“I know.”

Hermione regards him sadly for a moment, then tries a smile and pats his leg gently. “We’re still on for tomorrow?”

Harry forces a small smile. “Yeah,” he agrees to placate her, though he really has no interest in going out. If he doesn’t agree to go out with her every once in awhile her nagging gets really bad.

\- ~ -

The next day Hermione meets with him at Grimmauld Place first to transfigure his face and give him a disguise before they go out. Hermione had gotten into a secondary school for Wizarding Law and needs to get a new set of robes and some books before the first term starts. They head to Diagon Alley and Harry mainly follows along disinterestedly.

They go into Madam Malkin’s and Hermione goes off to look at the robes she needs. Harry looks at the outfits in the windows and then wanders toward the back, poking at different fabrics and accessories.

“Yes, thank you. These and the black ones will do nicely.” 

Harry’s attention snaps to the sound of the familiar voice nearby. Looking around a clothing rack Harry spies Malfoy and feels the excitement start to flood his body, his heart speeding.

The old witch leaves Malfoy to inspect himself in front of the fitting mirrors as she goes to get the other set of robes. Harry watches Malfoy as he turns this way and that, eyeing the fabric pinned over his tall, slender form. The rich, lapis lazuli coloured robes go well with his hair and skin tone. 

Malfoy looks a lot better than he had during the trial or even eighth year; his skin had better colour, the dark circles under his eyes weren’t so apparent, and he didn’t look half-starved anymore. 

The slicked back hair and critical expression Malfoy wore as he examined himself in the mirror still made him look rather severe and pretentious, but Harry can’t help comparing the polite man to the arrogant boy he’d met eight years ago, standing there in the very same spot. He never thought he’d ever hear _Malfoy_ thank a shop employee. 

It’s then that Malfoy looks up and catches Harry’s eye in the mirror, he does a double take and turns to look at him. Harry can feel the the grey eyes flitting all over his face, and Malfoy scowls as he scrutinizes his features. 

Harry knows he doesn’t look anything like himself, and Malfoy shouldn’t recognize him, but the longer Malfoy stares the more Harry starts to panic. Hermione always does a great job with his disguises, and no one ever recognizes him, but there are certain things they can’t alter. Harry still has to wear his glasses, though she has transfigured them into rectangular frames today, and his hair doesn’t transfigure well. They’ve tried altering it several times before, but as it’s proven in the past his hair has a mind of its own and always returns to its black, untidy mess within minutes.

Malfoy finally looks away, turning back to the mirrors, and Harry lets out the breath he’d been holding. He steps around the clothing rack, thinking he’d gotten away unrecognized.

“Still stalking me then, Potter?” Malfoy sneers, adjusting his collar.

Harry sucks in a sharp breath and looks back to see Malfoy watching him through the mirror. He has to frown to fight off a smile as wonderful, sweet anger fills him.

“I didn’t stalk you,” Harry huffs defensively.

“Right,” Malfoy drawls, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

“I’m just here to help Hermione,” Harry says, taking a couple steps closer, then before he can stop himself asking he continues, “How did you know it was me?”

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitches up into a small, self-satisfied smile before he schools it back to a more neutral position, breaking eye contact with Harry to regard himself in the mirror.

“As if I couldn’t recognize that ratty hair. Of all the things you decide to change, _that_ is the one thing you keep?”

Harry glances away, putting a hand through said hair and mumbling, “It sort of has a mind of it’s own.”

“Or maybe it was that vacant expression on your face that gave it away,” Malfoy continues, and Harry looks up to see that familiar smug, superior look on his face. It sets his blood boiling and Harry is so damned happy for it. He’d spent his whole last year at Hogwarts hoping to get Malfoy into another spat like this.

Harry can’t help it anymore and grins. Malfoy’s expression falls and he blinks at Harry, clearly confused by his reaction. Harry opens his mouth to trade insults but is interrupted before he can get anything out. 

“Harry?” He hears Hermione call before seeing her turn the corner. She looks at him, then spots Malfoy. “Oh! Uh, hello, Malfoy,” she greets, sending Harry a questioning glance.

“Granger,” he returns with a nod and a polite, tight-lipped smile. 

Harry glances between the two of them, furrowing his brow. The greeting seems too cordial, or maybe just too lacking in the usual venom. He wants to question them about it, but the witch who was helping Malfoy with his fitting comes back to take off the robes and send him off.

“Granger,” Malfoy says again, this time in farewell as he passes by, “See you around, Potter.”

Hermione turns a sharp eye on Harry. She doesn’t even need to say anything to make him feel defensive.

“I didn’t tell him! He just—I don’t know, he _knew_.”

Hermione frowns, then turns away to get her robe fitted. Harry continues wandering around, and too quickly his anger at Malfoy dissipates, replaced with frustration at himself. He shouldn’t feel so damn happy about seeing Malfoy and being insulted by him, it’s just wrong.

After Hermione finishes her fitting she drags him to Flourish and Blotts. While Hermione is doing her thing Harry continues his wandering. He’s already back to feeling numb after his encounter with Malfoy, and none of the books interest him. He wonders how long it will be until he can go back home, but knowing Hermione it will probably be a while. It’s after he wanders into the travel section that a title finally catches his eye: _London to Tokyo: Apparition Points and Floo Connections Around the World For the Savvy Traveller_.

Harry stops and blinks at the book, then pulls it off the shelf and starts flipping through it. Harry’s never really been on holiday before. He’s seen so little of the world, and yet he’d been perfectly content to walk to his death having seen and done so little. There was so much he’d never experienced, so much he wanted to experience. Harry gets this weird feeling in his gut like this is what he’s been wanting and waiting for. This is something he can do, a choice he can make for himself to see the world. 

Harry can’t describe it, something just clicks inside him as he looks at the book, and he knows he has to buy it. He checks around for Hermione, finding her deeply embedded in one corner of the bookshop, then discreetly buys the travel guide while she is distracted, shrinking it and tucking it away in his pocket.

After she’s finished with her shopping, Hermione goes back to 12 Grimmauld Place and stays with Harry a while longer, having a cup of tea and chatting with him. It feels like the longest hour of Harry’s life and he can’t stop his foot bouncing under the table.

Once Hermione finally leaves he pulls out the book and starts going through it, looking at all the places it has listed. The book goes over the best travel locations worldwide for various interests, and the different means to travel there. It includes nearby accommodations, sights, and wizarding communities. It even has a section on different cultural expectations and how not to offend while travelling. 

At first Harry just breezes through all of it, then after he’s finished scanning he starts looking more carefully and finding each of the Floo connections he could get to from London. He reads the section on long distance apparition and finds all the apparition points he would be capable of jumping to from here.

Harry distantly feels the murmur of nerves and excitement. It’s small, but it’s there, and he almost wants to just flip to a page at random and apparate there right now. He talks himself down, starting to try and rationalize it. He can’t just up and leave his life here, there’s still so many things to do to fix up Grimmauld Place, and what would Ron and Hermione say? And, Merlin, what would Molly say? Plus he can’t leave Teddy.

Harry turns his thoughts to his godson and chews on his lip. Now he has the urge to visit him and Andromeda, and he firecalls to see if she is home. She is and she invites him in, so Harry steps through the Floo into her living room.

Teddy had unexpectedly become the best thing in his life, and had replaced Malfoy in Harry’s obsession because Harry didn’t feel so empty when he was around his godson. Teddy doesn’t evoke the strangely explosive emotion that Malfoy does, he’s sort of the opposite. When he’s holding Teddy he’s filled with a calm focus, and suddenly that apathy isn’t so painful anymore. The world goes quiet and he feels content to stare into those large eyes, which were usually green when Harry was with him.

Being raised by the Dursleys had made Harry scared of the idea of having kids. He thought he’d be a rubbish father because he had never really known what a good father was like. He’d never thought of himself as a very paternal person, but being with Teddy brought it out of him and it felt right. He wanted Teddy to have what he never had, he wanted to make sure Teddy was loved and cared for, and that he would always have someone he could depend on for anything.

Looking at Teddy now he realizes that he needs to do something to change how his life is going; he can’t keep hiding away, feeling nothing, being sad and empty and broken. He needs to change something, _do_ something to get back to being a functional human being, if not for himself, then for Teddy. Harry is not going to let Teddy grow up without his godfather. He had spent a lot of time wondering about how much different his life would have been if Sirius had been there for him, and he doesn’t want Teddy to grow up wondering the same thing.

He doesn’t want to leave Teddy but he knows that he needs to leave England. He needs to make a choice, make a change, move beyond his small world, explore a little and find out who Harry Potter is without Voldemort, without Dumbledore, without the prophecy.

Harry holds Teddy for a long time, and then rocks him to sleep. After putting him in his crib and seeing that he is asleep and comfortable he goes into the living room where Andromeda is having a cup of tea. He smiles nervously at her and she gives a small smile in return. 

Harry bites his lip, then makes up his mind. He wasn’t going to tell anyone, but looking at Andromeda now he knows he needs to get it off his chest.

“I’m leaving,” Harry says weakly, having a hard time getting out what he really wants to say.

“Alright, have a good night, Harry.”

“I mean…” Harry looks away and puts a hand through his hair then says, “I mean I’m—I’m leaving England. I need to—I—I don’t know exactly. I just, I need to leave.”

Andromeda’s brows move down slightly as she regards him in silence for a moment, then nods. “Alright,” she says, pausing before continuing, “Do you know where you’ll go?”

“Not really.”

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”

“Uh, well, no. I just—I need to get away, you know?”

Andromeda is quiet another moment before nodding again. “I understand. Do what you need to. We’ll be here.”

Harry nods. He feels like that’s the best he could have gotten. Somehow hearing taciturn Andromeda give him her approval to do what he needs to makes him feel like he really can do it. 

The next day Harry buys himself a tent, a few traveling supplies, gets some money out of his vault, then goes home and packs. While packing he comes across the photo of Malfoy that he kept from the Daily Prophet article. He watches it for a minute, feeling the faint bit of anger and excitement it always gives him, watching Malfoy’s furious expression as he comes charging at him in the photo.

He debates for a minute whether he should take it with him, then huffs and angrily tucks it back to the bottom of the sock drawer. He doesn’t need Malfoy, Harry tells himself, he is going to fix himself and then he’ll be able to feel healthy, normal emotions about people he doesn’t hate.

After he finishes getting everything ready he thinks maybe he should send owls to some people to let them know, but he can’t. As soon as Hermione or Molly get an owl they’ll come blasting through the fireplace and try to stop him. He can’t deal with that. Harry leaves a note on the kitchen table that reads:

_I need to get away for a while, don’t worry about me. I’ll owl soon.  
Harry_

Harry picks up his book, makes up his mind, and apparates. It takes two jumps for Harry to get where he’s going. He decides on a little beach town in Ireland. He finds a nice spot out of the way to set up his tent, then casts a few protective wards.

Now that he’s here he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He gets his stuff set up then supposes he should go to bed. 

\- ~ -

The next day Harry sleeps in until 1 in the afternoon, then steps out of his tent and stretches, looking around the countryside and smiling a little. Already he feels a little lighter, like he doesn’t have anyone to answer to and he can do whatever he wants. He hadn’t realized how trapped he had felt in England until he was outside of it.

He takes a walk, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the country landscape. It’s nice. He can’t remember the last time he was able to take a walk without worrying about being accosted on the street.

The refreshed feeling doesn’t last long though. Harry goes through phases where he’ll walk every day or ride his broom, then other days he doesn’t even leave the tent. He starts wondering what the hell he’s doing here, what he thought he would find or get out of trotting off to Ireland to stay in a tent and do nothing. 

The first time he goes to the local wizarding community to send letters to let everyone know he was okay he gets recognized very quickly and soon enough there is a frenzy. Everyone wants to shake his hand and thank him, ask him what he’s doing in Ireland, how they can help him, and if they can show him around. He apparates away at the first opportunity, but it’s not soon enough. The local wizarding paper puts out an article the next morning about Harry Potter’s mysterious appearance in Ireland.

Harry wishes he could change his features the way Hermione could, and he realizes that if he’s going to be able to do anything without being harassed and without everyone already having a loaded opinion of him, he’s going to need to learn. He braves the magic shops again to go to the bookshop and get a couple of spellbooks. He wears a hat that keeps his hair down over his scar. He manages to remain unnoticed for a little while, but inevitably someone spots him and he has to make a quick escape. 

New spellbooks in hand, Harry spends the next three days doing nothing. Somehow he just doesn’t want to. He looks at the books and thinks about the energy it would take to learn the new spells, and now without any guidance from teachers or persuasion from Hermione, and he can’t seem to make himself open them up. He spends much of the three days sleeping and telling himself he’ll do it the next day.

Finally, one day Harry cracks open the first book. He flips through it idly until a spell jumps out at him. He reads through the description and instructions, then practices the wand movement a couple times before trying the spell. He does alright for his first cast and it feels good to be using his magic again. 

He practices casting for a couple hours, teaching himself a couple spells before deciding to take a tea break. A tea break turns into a snack break, which turns into a nap break, and then the day is over. 

Harry goes on like that for a while, having long periods of apathy and lethargy and disinterest before one day he’ll do a little bit.

It takes a while to learn the facial alteration spell, which isn’t helped any by Harry’s distinct lack of passion, but eventually he gets it down, mostly. He tells himself he’ll go out more once he learns it, but the truth is after he learns it he doesn’t go out much more than he already did.

\- ~ -

One brisk September day Harry wakes up with a craving for ice cream, and it’s just enough to get him going. It’s starting to get too cold for ice cream, but he doesn’t care. He carefully transfigures his face in the mirror and now resembles a teacher he had in grade school. He aged his skin, gave himself blue eyes, a thick brow, long nose, square chin, and hides his scar as well, but he can’t do anything about his hair or glasses. 

Harry hadn’t quite mastered how to regulate the duration of the spell yet. Once after practicing he was left with giant, potato-sized ears for two days, and the last time he changed his eye colour they were back to green within minutes. He decides his disguise will be enough, and he thinks the spell should at least last long enough for him to enjoy a cone of ice cream and the walk back.

The seagulls squawk as they glide above Harry over the beach. Harry listens to them as he watches the sea rise and fall against the shore. It was sort of mesmerizing, and he unconsciously licks at his pecan caramel ice cream in time with it, sitting on a bench on the sidewalk that runs along the edge of the beach. There are some Muggles around, playing in the sand and water, walking past him occasionally, but it’s early enough that the area isn’t too busy.

Harry has been to the ocean a couple of times before, but was never really in a position to appreciate it. He can’t be entirely sure, but he thinks he likes it. He finds the light glinting off the evermoving water beautiful, and he likes the salty smell of the ocean as the wind catches it, bringing up a breeze that tousles his hair. The sand was rather annoying to walk around on, and he already had a fair bit in his trainers, but it wouldn’t be so bad barefoot. Maybe he’ll come back tomorrow to swim and see how that feels.

As Harry contemplates the chances of him actually coming back tomorrow, he suddenly feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He looks around nervously and sees a tall, dark figure rapidly advancing on him, wand raised.

 _No_ , is all Harry can think as he looks at the pale skin, the red eyes, the slits for a nose. A face that haunted him for years—continues to haunt him.

Time slows down as Harry is suddenly so aware of the feeling of his heart pounding in his chest. His limbs feel cold, the warmth draining out of them as he pushes himself up off the bench. His ice cream falls from his hand as he reaches for his wand, but just as he feels his fingers close around the handle he sees his enemy’s wand move and a nonverbal Incarcerous hits him. 

The ropes pull his arms and legs tight together and Harry falls over. Panic starts to set in as all Harry can feel is the pounding of his heart against his chest and the horrifyingly familiar feeling of terror rushing through his veins. 

Not again. Not again. He killed him. He killed Voldemort. This can’t be real, this can’t be happening. He can’t come back. A huge surge of fear shoots through Harry as suddenly he finds his mind whirring with all the possibilities. What if they missed a Horcrux? _What if they missed a Horcrux?!_ How could they be so certain that he was really dead this time? How could Harry face Voldemort again? He couldn’t. He couldn’t when he was so broken, he didn’t have anything left to fight him with.

“Harry Potter,” the voice is harsh and unfamiliar, and Harry looks at the figure in confusion. 

A strange sense of relief washes through Harry as he can really see the man now. It’s not him. It’s not Voldemort. The eyes glaring at him are dark, the nose is short, but there, the skin is starting to wrinkle with age, and a hood covers what appears to be brown hair. A vicious grin splits his face as he approaches. 

Harry is confused and scared and can barely think over the panicked drumming in his chest as he struggles against the ropes and tries to wrap his head around what is happening.

“What luck. I thought surely The Boy Who Lived might put up a bit more fight, but I only needed—” The wizard stops mid sentence as he slips on Harry’s fallen ice cream, stumbling a moment.

A moment is all Harry needs. He feels the ropes loosen their hold as the man loses his concentration. “Emancipare!” The ropes drop off Harry instantly and he scrambles to his feet. He gets up just in time to see that the man has regained himself and is raising his wand again, face drawn into a scowl. 

“Protego!” Harry throws up the shield instinctively and the red hex glances off his shield a mere half second later. 

The wizard throws another nonverbal spell at Harry which he deflects, and then takes the split-second opportunity to cast his own, “Expelliarmus!”

His spell is flicked away like an annoying fly and Harry barely manages to get his shield up in time before the next spell hits, a huge burst of purple that is strong enough to make him stumble back a couple steps. 

The man takes the opportunity to throw three more spells in quick succession, but Harry regains his footing quickly and counters them. 

“Confringo!” Harry yells as soon as he gets the chance, but the blast hits a shield and dissipates, and Harry is back on the defensive as more spells come flying at him. He dodges, shields and counters them instinctively, fighting the fear racing through him from not knowing exactly what the spells are.

His attacker is stronger than him, more powerful, more knowledgeable, he has Harry on the defensive and is advancing and pushing Harry back. But it doesn’t matter because right now all that matters is surviving. His head is clearer than it has been in a year, and everything he does comes from somewhere buried deep inside him—instinct, and experience, and the desire to live.

“Oppungo!” At the next chance he gets Harry sends a large slab of rock flying at his opponent, who turns it to dust before it can hit him.

Harry sucks in a sharp breath and barely dives out of the way of a jet of fire, then looks up just in time to see the Incarcerous that followed. “Incendio!” He turns the ropes to ash just before they can hit him. 

The sound of several sharp pops nearby barely register in Harry’s mind, but the other wizard notices and glances in their direction. Harry’s heart jumps as he see his opportunity in the split second mistake and he reaches deep into the well he can feel buried within himself. 

“STUPEFY!” Harry yells and the strength of the charm that bursts from his wands puts him back a step. It hits the wizard square on and sends him flying. 

Harry is panting, chest heaving in exertion and exhilaration, wand still held aloft, pointed at the crumpled body on the ground. **Ba-dump! Ba-dump!** His heart thuds so loudly in his chest and Harry feels alive, he feels so _alive_ —

“Drop your wand!” A commanding voice calls out and Harry whirls around to see three figures descending upon him, wands raised.

Harry sets his jaw and keeps his wand up, ready for whatever they throw at him. His eyes flick over the two wizards and one witch, his mind automatically analyzing them and trying to decide how best to take on three more opponents.

“Drop your wand!” The wizard in the middle shouts again, and looking at him Harry suddenly realizes that they are all wearing brown robes, Auror robes.

Letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Harry pauses a moment and then lowers his wand.

“Is that Harry Potter?” He hears one of the Aurors mutter as they approach. He can see their eyes flitting up to the scar on his forehead and he knows now his transfigured features must have worn off.

“Banks, gather up the Muggles, we’ll need to Obliviate them. Walsh, figure out who that is and if he needs medical attention,” the man in the middle orders his fellow Aurors and they follow the instructions with only a small pause to stare at Harry first.

The man presses his lips into a line that reminds Harry a bit of Professor McGonagall. He only realizes now that his very public duel has probably broken a few wizarding laws, but Harry finds that he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter because Harry feels so _alive_. He can feel his heart beating rapidly and hear the rush of blood in his veins pumping the fear, and exhilaration, and that instinctive desire to live through his whole body. He tingles with the sensation of using his magic so passionately. He hasn’t been able to cast a spell that strong since the Battle of Hogwarts.

“Mr. Potter?” The man asks, as if there is a question of his identity, and Harry nods. He’s still holding his wand up, though Harry notices his grip has loosened a bit. “I am Auror Connolly. I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what—”

“Connolly!” The Auror named Walsh interrupts him and Connolly looks over, “It’s Dufaigh!”

Harry looks over to see the other Auror cast a binding spell on the unconscious wizard, then looks back at Auror Connolly and finds him staring at Harry a bit wide-eyed and questioning.

\- ~ -

Harry ends up going to the Irish Ministry office with the Aurors as they transport the wizard that attacked Harry and put him in a holding cell. They grill him on what exactly happened and Harry is so stunned and confused by the events that he goes through it all in a bit of a daze. 

Apparently the man that attacked Harry, Dufaigh, is a Dark Wizard that had been giving the Irish Ministry a lot of trouble the last few months. He’d gathered some followers that had been inspired by Voldemort and had started attacking Muggles and Muggle born in the last year. Dufaigh seemed to think Harry’s coming to Ireland was a sign, and that taking out the Saviour of the Wizarding World would give more support and credence to his movement, bringing more witches and wizards to his side. Apparently they’d been searching the area for Harry as soon as his presence there had gone public.

After three long hours of being questioned at the Ministry, giving his statement, and going through the paperwork, Harry is back to feeling empty and numb. For that one brilliant moment Harry had felt alive and real and back like his old self again, but now that that sensation is gone he just feels empty. His head aches from dealing with the bureaucracy, and he just wants to sleep.

“You’re free to go Mr. Potter, you can collect your wand at Security on your way out,” Auror Connolly finally says the magic words, and Harry is on his feet, hand already on the doorknob when the Auror adds, “And please don’t let me hear about you taking on any other Dark Wizards. Even if you are Harry Potter, you are not an Auror.”

Harry forces a small smile and nods, “You won’t, it really wasn’t how I planned to spend my morning.” He then hurries out of the office, collecting his wand and taking a deep breath as he steps through the exit.

**Snap!**

Harry blinks the light out of his eyes and looks around to see a witch holding a camera and a wizard standing next to her, grinning at Harry.

“Mr. Potter! Pleasure to meet you!” the wizard speaks rapidly, extending a hand that Harry shakes in a daze, “Connor Griffin, Inisfail Inquisitor. Mind if I ask a few questions?”

“Uh,” Harry can’t even form a proper response before he notices a Quick-Quotes Quill already zipping across a notepad, “I—”

“Word has it that just this morning you confronted the Dark Wizard Dufaigh and defeated him in a duel,” the reporter pauses a moment and Harry tries to correct him.

“Well, that’s not really—”

“Did you come to Ireland with the intention of taking on Dufaigh and bringing down his reign of terror?” the reporter cuts him off.

“No, I didn’t even know—” Harry starts, trying to get a look at what the industrious quill is writing.

“Since defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, are you now on a mission to rid the world of Dark Witches and Wizards?”

“Look, I’m not going round fighting Dark Wizards!” Harry snaps, feeling a lot like his fourteen year old self stuffed in a broom cupboard with Rita Skeeter.

The reporter pauses a short moment to look at Harry curiously, still smiling, “So you didn’t defeat Dufaigh in a duel?”

“Well, yeah, I suppose—”

“So you are taking down Dark Wizards.”

“Well, not intentionally—”

“Since you flunked out of Auror training, is your plan now to battle Dark Magic on your own, outside the Ministry?” the reporter asks and gives Harry a smile that sets his teeth on edge.

“I didn’t _flunk out_ ,” Harry growls, “I _quit_. I’m not here to battle any Dark Wizards!” His headache is feeling worse every minute and Harry just wants to get back to his tent and sleep it all off.

“How do you think his defeat will affect his followers? And will it stop the spree of Muggle and Muggle born attacks?”

“I—I don’t know!” Harry’s had enough and pushes past the journalist. A few hours ago he’d never even heard of a Dark Wizard Dufaigh, what would he bloody know about the effect on crime in the area?

“Wait, wait! A few more minutes, please!” Griffin cries after Harry as he makes his way to a secluded alley where he can apparate. Harry rounds the corner and the last he hears before turning on the spot is, “Please! The world wants to know what’s next for Harry Potter!”

For a brief moment Harry feels the familiar sensation of his his whole body being squeezed tight, as if forced through a tube, and then he finds himself outside his tent and breaths a sigh of relief. 

“Yeah, I’d like to know too…” Harry mutters to himself before going into his tent and collapsing on his bed.

\- ~ -

The sound of his tent flap fluttering open and an owl hooting is what finally wakes Harry up. He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep for, but it feels like days. He sits up and rubs his eyes groggily, then reaches for his glasses and puts them on. The sound of the flap opening again draws his attention and he just catches sight of the owl leaving, then looks around, a bit confused, when his eye finally lands on a smoking red letter lying on his table.

Harry has never jumped out of bed so fast before, and he just manages to wrench the howler open before it can explode. The result is scarcely better as Molly’s screaming voice floods the tent.

“HARRY POTTER! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, FIGHTING DARK WIZARDS IN IRELAND?! YOU COULD HAVE DIED! AND TO FIND OUT ABOUT IT THROUGH THE PROPHET! YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING ON HOLIDAY TO CLEAR YOUR HEAD, NOT TO GET YOURSELF BLOWN UP! WAIT UNTIL I GET AHOLD OF YOU IF I FIND OUT YOU LIED TO ME—”

Harry cringes and takes a few steps back, hands over his ears.

“—TEDDY COULD HAVE LOST HIS GODFATHER, JUST AS YOU LOST YOURS! I EXPECT YOU TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS LOOKING FOR TROUBLE?! WILL IT NEVER END?! I THOUGHT YOU WOULD HAVE BETTER SENSE AFTER EVERYTHING WE LOST IN THE WAR! I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO DISAPPOINTED—”

Normally Harry would feel wretched about disappointing Molly, but he just feels frustrated. She doesn’t understand!

“—IF YOU WANT TO HUNT DARK WIZARDS YOU WILL NOT DO IT ALONE AND UNTRAINED! IF THAT IS WHAT YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO BE DOING FROM NOW ON I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND DRAG YOU HOME MYSELF! JUST YOU THINK BEFORE YOU DARE RISK YOUR LIFE LIKE THAT AGAIN!”

Harry shudders and breaths a sigh of relief as the howler finally finishes and burns up. His ears are ringing and he tries a couple times to pop them when he sees another owl fly in. Harry’s stomach drops as he watches it deposit another howler on his table, along with a copy of the Prophet, before flying out of the tent.

Harry grits his teeth and rips open the next Howler. Hermione’s voice crashes out of it as soon as it’s open. 

HARRY JAMES POTTER! IS THIS WHAT YOU DECIDED TO DO WITH YOURSELF?! THROW YOURSELF AT DEATH BECAUSE YOU CAN’T HANDLE YOUR DEPRESSION?! I WON’T LET YOU DO IT! IF YOU DON’T GET OVER HERE _IMMEDIATELY_ TO EXPLAIN WHAT IN MERLIN’S NAME YOU WERE THINKING, I WILL COME THERE MYSELF AND APPARATE YOU BACK BY YOUR EAR!

Harry flinches at the sound of another owl flying into his tent and grimaces as he watches a third letter come at him. This one, thankfully, is a regular letter, and Harry breathes a huge sigh of relief before opening it. 

_Sorry mate, I tried to stop her sending the howler. I really did. See you soon, I hope. We’re at Grimmauld Place.  
Ron_

Harry rubs his head, as it’s now pounding with a headache, his ears still ringing. He sighs and then picks up the copy of the Prophet Hermione sent him. The front page is plastered with his photo, his expression is a sort of fearless, determined look that he doesn’t recognize on his own face. He wonders vaguely when they took the picture and how long ago it was taken. Probably the Prophet have got a whole stock of them now, waiting for opportunities like this to use them. 

He glances through the article which depicts a heroic battle between light and dark, it is ridiculously embellished and erroneous. It makes Harry out to be some sort of valiant champion of the people that has made it his mission to go about ridding the world of Dark Magic. It makes it sound like he sought out the duel, and compares it to Dumbledore’s duel with Grindelwald.

Harry throws down the paper and pushes up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. This is exactly what he didn’t want. He just wanted to get away from everything and try to figure out what was wrong with him without having to constantly worry about the Daily Prophet writing about him, or Molly smothering him, or Hermione’s constant concern.

Taking a deep breath Harry releases it slowly, then fixes his mind on the apparation points and makes the two jumps back to London. Better get it over with.

\- ~ -

“Harry, will you please come back home now?” Hermione pleads. He’s finally gotten her calmed down after fifteen minutes of arguing and explaining what actually happened with Dufaigh. They’re sitting around his kitchen table with mugs of tea Ron made them.

“No.”

“You don’t realize how dangerous it is out there for you, this is just one example of what can happen,” Hermione presses.

“Yeah, I could also get hit by a bus tomorrow and die. I can’t live the rest of my life hiding and worrying about what could happen,” Harry argues.

“I know, but you are _The Saviour of the Wizarding World_.”

“I’m not—”

“I know you want to think that, Harry, but the thing is, you _are_. You defeated Voldemort, you’ve affected so many people’s lives, you represent hope and light to millions. You are a symbol, and that makes you a target for Dark Magic, or even someone trying to prove how powerful they are by defeating you.”

“But I’m not powerful.”

“I know, but you defeated Voldemort—” 

“Yeah, but I had help! Without you and Ron, without Dumbledore, without knowing about the Horcruxes—”

“I _know_ , Harry,” Hermione sighs impatiently, “But the rest of the world doesn’t know that! All they know, all they _saw_ is you dueling the most powerful Dark Wizard of our time and coming out on top. There are people out there who, if given the chance, would want to make a name for themselves by defeating the ‘Master of Death.’ ”

Harry frowns and looks down at his tea. He feels like Hermione is blowing this whole thing out of proportion, surely it was an isolated incident.

“I can’t,” Harry says wearily, “I’ll be more careful, I promise. But I can’t come back yet.”

Hermione frowns and Ron puts a hand over hers on the table. 

“We understand, Harry. I think it’s good, you taking the time to sort it all out. We’re just worried. We’ve always been together, you know? And we don’t want you getting attacked on the street when we’re not there.”

Harry forces a small smile, “Thanks.”

“He’s right, we’re really worried. I hate the thought of something happening to you. And honestly, Harry, I’m worried that—” Hermione hesitates and bites her lip nervously, “I’m worried that in your state you would want—or that you might not, well, _defend_ yourself properly.”

Harry breaks their eye contact for a moment. He doesn’t think he would ever take things that far, but he also doesn’t want Hermione to know how much he thinks about and tries to remember what that train station felt like. How sometimes he wonders if he might be better off if he hadn’t come back. He hadn’t even told them about it. He meant to, but there had never been a good time to stop and explain that actually he had died and talked to Dumbledore and it was sort of nice. Hermione had assumed that the Horcrux had taken all the damage of the killing curse and left him unscathed, and with how concerned she was now he thought it better to let her think that. 

“I think I’ve proved now that that’s not the case, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you have, but… I don’t know, I think I’d just feel better if—well, maybe we could visit sometime—”

“ _No_ ,” Harry snaps, and Hermione looks hurt, “Sorry. I just—this is just something I need to do by myself.” 

Harry is already feeling claustrophobic being back here, and the thought of anyone, even Hermione or Ron, coming with him and influencing his decisions makes him want to run for the hills. He doesn’t know much of what he is doing, but he does know that he needs to do it alone. Harry needs to explore and make his own decisions himself, and figure out what he wants out of life without the pressure of outside motives.

They talk for a little while longer, and then Harry has to take the dreaded trip to the Burrow to explain everything to Molly. Ron and Hermione come with and do their best to help calm her down, but it still takes quite a while and Harry doesn’t end up leaving until five hours later. Molly insists that he stay for lunch and keeps fussing and mothering him, saying many times how skinny he has gotten and pressing dish after dish onto him. 

By the end of it Harry just wants to get back to his tent and collapse, but while he’s here he decides that he wants to see Teddy. After firecalling Andromeda and getting her permission to pop in he takes the Floo to her house. 

Once there he instantly starts to feel his headache dissipating. Andromeda’s place has become something of a refuge to him. Teddy brings out a calm, peaceful feeling in Harry, and, while first intimidated by it, Harry has come to appreciate Andromeda’s dignified stoicism. He never feels as if he has to explain himself to her, and for that reason he usually does end up explaining himself to her, but it’s without the demanding pressure of Hermione or Molly. He can just talk about what he wants to talk about without feeling like he’s a rag having every detail wrung out of him.

Harry stays for a couple hours, holding Teddy, reading him some books, and talking to Andromeda about what happened. He puts Teddy to sleep, says goodbye, and then heads back to his tent in Ireland, crashing on his bed in exhaustion and having a long, dreamless sleep.

\- ~ -

After the incident with Dufaigh Harry doesn’t stay much longer in Ireland. If he wants to get away from everything he needs to get a lot farther away. On a whim Harry ends up in Montreal, putting an entire ocean between himself and Britain’s Wizarding World.

Harry spends a long time thinking about his fight with Dufaigh and the way it affected him. He hid it from everyone else, but the truth was that it had felt fantastic. He wants to feel like that again. Looking for trouble was out of the question, Harry had promised too many people too many times that he _was not_ and _would not_ be hunting dark wizards. But he needed something.

After two weeks of going on about the same as he had in Ireland, inspiration finally strikes. Harry is walking through the city when he sees an advertisement for The Great Canadian Bungee, which boasts being the highest jump in North America. He feels his heart flutter in faint excitement and realizes that maybe he doesn’t need to throw himself into a duel to the death to feel alive, maybe he just needs a good shot of adrenaline. 

It turns out that he’s right, and as he’s falling off a bridge for what feels like forever a huge grin splits his face and Harry cries out in elation. Harry can feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins and his heart beats like mad in his chest. It’s incredible. He feels so alive again and it’s just what he needs.

For a while it’s all Harry can do to seek out extreme activities that get his heart pumping. As soon as the rush dissipates he wants it back again. He becomes obsessed with it for a while, but whenever he calls Hermione to talk to anyone back home he decides to leave out his thrill seeking activities. 

Harry got a cell phone shortly after coming to North America since the distance was now too far for owls to deliver letters and he didn’t have access to a fireplace connected to Britain’s Floo Network to make firecalls with. It takes a while for the Weasleys to get the hang of speaking on the phone with him, but Hermione teaches them. She even gets Andromeda on the phone every once in awhile, which Harry is glad for.

After the initial rush of adrenaline chasing Harry thinks about how his magic had felt during the duel, and how fighting for his life had granted him access to that well of power he hadn’t been able to touch since his emotions had shut down. Harry starts working on his magic in earnest, practicing old spells and teaching himself new ones. He remembers how frightening it was to have nonverbal spells being cast at him, and he concentrates on learning how to do his offensive and defensive spells nonverbally. He also picks up a book on healing spells which comes in handy with all the dangerous things he does.

He tries to practice as soon as he can after skydiving, or whitewater river rafting, or mountain biking down deadly trails, or any other extreme activity he tries. Usually he can’t do it immediately without breaking the Statute of Secrecy, but he tries to get somewhere private while his heart is still pounding and finds that the more he works at it the better he gets. He can already feel a difference from how his magic had felt all through eighth year, and he can’t really imagine how he passed his N.E.W.T.s before.

\- ~ -

Harry migrates around, exploring different areas of Canada. He mostly stays away from wizarding communities, but he finds that when he does need to go get supplies or new spellbooks that the experience is a lot different than what he’s known before. In America it seems like Harry isn’t quite the sensation he is in Britain and mostly he doesn’t need to transfigure his features. 

Typically if he doesn’t hide his scar people will recognize him, but there isn’t as much recognition if he hides it under a hat. Even when there is it’s not so overwhelming—he still gets asked for autographs and people wanting to shake his hand, but it’s not nearly as often. Voldemort’s reach hadn’t extended to the Americas, so where in the UK Harry was the Saviour of the Wizarding World, here he was more of a curiosity—a powerful wizard and a person of academic interest for being the only wizard to survive the killing curse.

As it really gets into winter Harry decides that Canada is just too damn cold, so he decides to start moving South and enters the United States. He heads to New York first, he’s not really sure why, it just seems like the thing to do. While of course different in some ways, Harry draws similarities of the big city to London and finds some comfort in that.

Although he doesn’t need the money—the wizarding banks here are capable of transferring money from Gringotts—Harry decides to get a job. He starts working odd jobs for a few weeks at a time before moving on to the next town. Most are Muggle jobs and not as informative on wizarding career choices as Harry probably needs, but he doesn’t care. Harry finds that he enjoys working and trying out different things. Harry reads and practices his magic, he still goes thrill seeking in his free time, and works mostly under the table Muggle jobs. 

After picking up his first job Harry starts being more social. He makes an effort to befriend his co-workers and finds out that he really enjoys learning about different people—their lives, their interests, their culture. It’s in all of this process that Harry decides to be open to trying anything new. With all the different people he starts befriending across the country, he starts experiencing so much more of life than he ever knew existed.

Harry gets really piss drunk for the first time, pukes his guts out, and has his first hangover. It’s wonderful. Harry realizes that his numbness can be a powerful tool, because now that he doesn’t care about anything he can do whatever without feeling embarrassed or stupid for doing it. Harry goes dancing and doesn’t care whether he looks like an idiot, he smokes cigarettes and doesn’t care what it might do to his health, he has sex for the first time and doesn’t feel shy about it. It felt great physically and it doesn’t matter that the girl and him part ways the next morning and never see each other again. 

A couple months into Harry’s new lease on life he discovers that he’s attracted to men as well. He agrees to let his co-worker take him to a gay club, and when a man there starts hitting on him Harry lets him. He’s quite good looking, tall and lithe, light brown hair and dark blue eyes. He has a snappy attitude and a way of flirting that is also sort of insulting. It excites Harry in a way he hasn’t felt in a long while and he ends up going home with the other man, trying out things he’d never even thought to consider before. 

Time passes quickly as Harry roams generally Westward across the expansive country, filling the void inside himself with any experience he possibly can. He pushes away the numbness with late night drives, parties, climbing mountain faces, serving coffee at a temporary job, swapping stories with strangers, smoking his first joint, one-night stands or very short lived relationships, and learning a little bit about how to do all sorts of things—playing various instruments, a few words in different languages, how to drive, how to process muggle film, how to ride a horse, how to fix an air conditioner.

He takes a few short trips back to London here and there, but only for a couple of days at a time and just to reassure everyone that yes he is alive, no he’s not ready to come back yet, and please don’t send a search party.

\- ~ -

Months fly by, winter turns to spring, spring turns to summer, and somewhere along his journey Harry has started to feel certain emotions again, but they come at him one at a time and with such intensity that he’s rather glad it doesn’t happen all at once. The first thing that comes back is hatred.

It feels like his brain has decided to punish him for wanting his emotions back, and so it dumps hate on him like a 40 ton truck. Harry _hates_ the sun, and he _hates_ his job, and he _hates_ his glasses, and he _hates_ beets, and he _hates_ Americans, and he _hates_ himself. He spends two week internally raging at everything around him, including himself. 

When the next emotion hits Harry has to quit his job and hide in his tent for a week as fear grips at him constantly. His mind swirls with all the horrible possibilities and the most ridiculous things, but he can’t help feeling them. What if his friends hate him when he finally returns to London? What if he gets attacked again? What if he messes up Teddy because he himself is so messed up? What if he gets hurt while hiking alone in the middle of nowhere and dies? What if he’s not really getting better?

Sadness then consumes Harry and lasts the longest, leaving him debilitated in his tent for three weeks. He can hardly eat or get out of bed for how sad he feels all the time. He finally finds himself really grieving all those deaths he couldn’t properly mourn after the war. He feels guilty and responsible for every one.

When happiness finally returns it comes in the form of laughter, and Harry starts finding everything funny and bursts out into uncontrollable laughter about the most trite things. One morning he picks up his fork to eat and, in noticing the fork, realizes how silly the object looks and laughs at it for a good twenty minutes.

Harry was always open to his feelings, he had never been the kind of person to shut things out or disassociate, but now that his emotions were back he did not feel normal. No, this was far from normal. Harry felt a bit like a pendulum, his emotions had been pulled back to one extreme side and now that they were finally released they swung all the way to the other extreme. 

If Harry is a pendulum he can feel himself slowly swinging back to his equilibrium point as time goes on. Day by day he starts feeling less broken and more like Harry.

Once his emotions aren’t quite so volatile Harry moves on to the next town and finds a new job at a little bakery. He goes back to his routine, staying several weeks, making some new friends, having some fun, and then moving on. With the return of his emotions everything seems more enjoyable now, but Harry is less inclined to do some of the crazier and more embarrassing things.

By the time Harry gets to Montana it’s June and it has almost been a whole year since he left England. He sees an advertisement for a live-in stable hand and takes the job. Harry worked at a few stables and farms along the way and is now familiar with the work and likes being around horses. Physical labour jobs are some of the ones Harry has enjoyed most. He he likes working with his hands and being outside. 

Over the many months of working and adventuring Harry has started filling out his clothes as he never had before in his life. He wasn’t buff, necessarily, but he was more toned and less scrawny. Harry rather liked it. It felt good to be able to feel the strength of his muscles, to use his body and not have to rely on magic for everything. It made him feel good about himself—capable and confident. It was so refreshing after a year of feeling worthless.

His dusky skin had tanned to a somewhat deeper, healthier looking tone from all his time outside, and his hair had grown down to his shoulders. He never bothered trying to alter his hair, it had a mind of it’s own and would just put itself back the next day after a cut, so Harry let it be. He hadn’t thought about it much, and mostly he kept it back in a messy bun, but it suited him. The longer mane meant it had more weight to it, and thus his curls hung lower. Instead of being tight, untidy cowlicks that got in his face and poked out at weird angles, the longer hair created waves that framed his face and ended in big spirals over his shoulders.

\- ~ - 

Seven weeks later Harry was still at the same place. He’d gotten to really like the old codger he worked for, Richard. He was a 73 year old cowboy type that stood 6’3”, had skin like beat up old leather, sharp flint eyes which reflected the hard man underneath, and grey hair that went all the way down his back in a long braid, accompanied by a beard. 

Harry had been a little intimidated by him at first, but quickly grew very fond of him. Rich had a great sense of humour and loved pulling his leg. Harry found himself the butt of many jokes, but it was never hurtful and he always laughed just as hard as Rich. 

Rich had gotten too old to tend to the horses and the land, but he insisted on going around with Harry most of the time as he did his work. They chatted and Rich told him all sorts of funny and amazing stories. Harry exercised the five horses and did most of the work with them because he didn’t want Rich to get hurt, but the old man was too stubborn to let Harry do everything alone.

“The day I can’t mount my own horse is the day I want you to take me out behind the shed and shoot me, ya hear?” He’d said when Harry questioned whether he should be riding at all.

Harry’s birthday came and went, and he’d insisted he didn’t want anyone going out of their way for it, and that they would do a makeup celebration when he returned to England. He knew it was time to head back. The past almost two months of working with Richard had left Harry feeling happy and normal. He didn’t feel empty or broken anymore, he wasn’t being overwhelmed by his emotions, and he felt like he now had control of his life and his decisions. Harry even had an idea of what he wanted to do now.

Soon after he started working for Rich, Harry had discovered that the old man was a carpenter. Once he found out he was instantly curious about his work. More and more he started spending his free time going into the workshop to watch the rugged old man work meticulously on a grandfather clock that he’d already put months of time into. Harry loved seeing it come together, piece by piece, and he started asking questions, wanting to know anything and everything about the process.

It wasn’t long before Rich started Harry working on his own project, and before he knew it he’d become a sort of apprentice. He didn’t mean to take it so far, he didn’t mean to stay so long, but he was enjoying himself so much that he hardly noticed the days slipping by. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy and right with himself, and the idea of leaving got pushed back with excuse after excuse.

Just one more project, he would tell himself. But then he’d finish one thing and want to start something new. Harry loved the smell of the wood as he planed it, and the satisfaction of feeling it under his fingertips, smooth as glass, after sanding it for hours. He loved the nervous moment before fitting the pieces together and finding that he’d measured everything right. He loved putting the lacquer on and seeing the richness of the colour of the wood it brought out. He found that he didn’t mind the callouses forming on his hands, the slivers in his fingers, or the wood shavings he would find in his pockets at the end of the day. Harry loved the feeling of putting all his focus on creating something new and beautiful.

\- ~ -

Harry is riding in the forest along the property, checking the fences and fixing them where needed when he resolves to return to London. Sunday. I’m going to leave Sunday, Harry tells himself. That will give him the week to put the finishing details on the rocking horse he was making for Teddy, and say goodbye to the old man. He doesn’t want to leave, but he knows he has to. He has to get back to his life in England, he’s been away too long. He already told Hermione and Ron to expect him back soon so that he wouldn’t be able to keep putting it off.

Rich hasn’t joined him in his work today because his back was acting up, but it’s probably better that way so Harry has a chance to think over everything alone. He’s really going to miss this place. Despite his best efforts Harry has become rather attached to the horses, not to mention the old man. While he had a certain fondness for the city, Harry thinks that the country life suits him. He’s really grown to like the open grasslands, the forest on the edge of the property, the mountains on the horizon, and the wide blue skies that stretch on and on.

Harry breathes in deeply the smell of the pine trees and the earth, still wet from the morning dew. He gives his horse’s neck a pat and smiles, taking in what he’s now decided will be one of his last days here. Harry keeps his eye on the fence as they walk along, looking for damage. It seems like it’s going to be a quiet day of work until his horse nickers nervously and Harry feels the hair on his neck stand up. He glances around, but it doesn’t feel like anyone is watching them, it’s more a sense of magic disturbing the area. His horse falters a step, but Harry urges him on, furrowing his brow and drawing his wand.

As they turn the corner in the deer path Harry sees a dead raven sprawled across a large, flat rock, its blood spread out in strange patterns with spell components placed inside the symbols. His horse whinnies and shakes his head, taking a step back. Harry pets his neck and shushes him, trying to calm him down before dismounting. He reassures his horse before hitching him to a tree and walking cautiously up to the rock. Harry doesn’t know much about Blood Magic, but that’s exactly what this looks like and it sets his nerves on edge. 

As he’s studying the symbols the raven twitches and looks up at him, making Harry jump. It caws weakly and Harry’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says, stunned, then starts panicking a bit. “Oh, oh fuck, oh god, okay, it’s going to be okay,” he stutters out, trying figure out what the hell to do. 

For one horrible moment Harry considers if it would be more merciful to put the dying bird out of its misery, but the way it stares up at him and gives another sad little caw convinces Harry that he can’t.

He casts a stasis charm on the raven and anxiously tries to reassure it, “Okay, it’s going to be alright, I’ll get you to a healer.”

Harry picks it up gently as he can, tucks it into one arm, and looks back at his horse. He decides then that he can’t just apparate and leave him here in this place. He hurries to get back on his horse and rides him hard out of the forest to the stable. 

Harry puts his horse in the round pen, tack still on, and then apparates to the nearest wizarding hub. He doesn’t know where to take an injured animal, and asks the first witch he comes across for directions, then rushes into the Magical Creatures Clinic. 

After a Caretaker takes the raven away Harry stays and waits, filling out the information request form as asked, though there isn’t much he can put on there since the bird isn’t his. It’s about an hour before the Caretaker comes back.

“Mr. Potter?” Harry looks up at the witch then quickly stands. “I’ve stabilized your raven, and he will live, but there has been extensive damage to his right wing. I’ve healed what I can, but the nature of the curse used on him means it will never fully heal. I’m sorry, but he won’t ever be able to fly again.”

“Oh,” Harry says, not really sure how to take that bit of the news. “Well, that’s—I mean, that’s good then. He’ll live, he’ll be okay.”

“Yes, he will live,” the Caretaker gives him a funny look, then continues, “I’d like to keep him overnight for observation, he lost a lot of blood. You should be fine to come and pick him up in the morning.”

“Pick him up?” Harry repeats, “Oh, um. He’s not mine. I just—I just found him, I think he’s probably wild.”

“I see. Well, he’s going to need someone to care for him. With the damage to his wing he’s not going to be able to survive in the wild.”

“Oh,” Harry says dumbly, then looks away and puts a hand through his hair. He considers it, for the briefest moment, but he still can’t bring himself to take on a pet. “Is there an adoption place he could go to?”

The Caretaker presses her lips tight, then nods. “Yes, there is a local bird rescue that would probably take him.”

“Great.”

“But since you’ve brought him in you’ll need to sign the transfer papers and pay the bill for his care,” she continues, and Harry gets the sense that the more he says, the less this witch likes him.

“Right, of course, no problem,” Harry says. The Caretaker gives a sharp nod and then goes to the reception desk, informing the wizard working there of the paperwork needed. Harry signs the paperwork, pays the bill, and leaves.

When he gets back to the stable his horse gives him a rather cross look at having been left alone, outside, in the round pen with all his tack still on. 

“Right, right, I’m sorry!” Harry quickly apologizes, rushing in to retrieve him and bring him into the stable.

Harry takes the tack off and spends extra time grooming him and gives him several biscuits before turning him out with the rest of the horses.

\- ~ -

The next morning Harry gets up early and returns to the forest, checking out the area where he found the raven and exploring the rest of the forest on the property from there. He covers as much of it as he can, but it is a large area. He doesn’t come across anyone else or find any other evidence of Dark Magic. Still, it concerns Harry that he found anything like that at all on Rich’s property. The thought of the old man or any of the horses getting hurt if Harry doesn’t look deeper into this unsettles him. He knows he can’t leave now.

Harry goes back to his room—a square attachment on Rich’s house that has a private entrance and it’s own kitchen and bathroom. He looks through his things to find a robe he can throw on over his t-shirt and jeans. He pulls a black robe out of his trunk that he thinks is probably clean when he hears a rapping on his window. 

There, on the windowsill, is a raven, and Harry blinks at it in confusion. When he goes over and opens the window the raven hops inside, twisting his head to look up at Harry with one eye. It’s the same raven from yesterday, Harry is sure of it, because it’s missing some feathers and has a scar running down its back and over its right wing. Harry notices then that it has something in its mouth, which it deposits on the sill.

“Kraa!” It says loudly, looking at Harry expectantly and then nudging the item towards him. 

Harry looks at it and sees it’s a key—a rusted, old skeleton key. Furrowing his brow he picks it up and examines it. “Er, thanks?” 

“Kraa, kraa!”

Harry looks at the raven in confusion and then says, “How did you get here? The Caretakers were supposed to take you to a bird rescue where you’d be looked after.”

The raven just tilts its head the other way and looks at him with its other eye. “Kraa?”

\- ~ - 

After telling Rich he’s going to need to run into town, Harry looks up the bird rescue the Caretaker mentioned and then delivers the raven to them. Once that is dealt with Harry puts on his robes and apparates to the state’s local office of the American Bureau of Magical Affairs, their equivalent to the Ministry of Magic.

It takes a little while but eventually he meets with a Warden, their version of Aurors, to report the Blood Magic. Warden Powell has a young, kind face and a soft voice, but conducts himself in a confident and professional manner, and he doesn’t seem affected by Harry’s celebrity status. Harry likes him instantly. 

As Harry explains what he saw he starts to realize how little he knows about what it actually was, and that he’s not even certain if it was Blood Magic. He feels a bit stupid the more he goes on, but Powell’s calm composure is reassuring and keeps him going. 

After Harry gives his account the Warden wants to visit the scene himself and Harry takes him. They chat as Powell inspects the symbols and spell components, then examines the surrounding area. He learns that Blood Magic is not as taboo in America as it in the UK. Blood Magic has a lot of historic and cultural roots in the ancient magic traditions of the Native American tribes, that it has many good uses and isn’t always tied to the Dark Arts. Because of that the laws here aren’t as strict about it. Powell confirms Harry’s suspicions that Dark Magic was used here and he intends to process the case and investigate further.

Harry feels more at ease after speaking to the Warden. It doesn’t hurt that he is quite fit, with his dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and olive skin. He’s not Harry’s usual type, he’s shorter and more well built, and his quiet nature is the opposite of the fiery personalities Harry is usually drawn to, but after the intense year he’s had Harry finds Powell’s tranquil energy a bit of a relief. He can’t help himself and he flirts a bit as they chat, and while the Warden remains professional he doesn’t seem put off by Harry either.

“Mr. Potter,” Warden Powell says once he’s finished his inspection.

“Harry,” he offers.

“Harry,” Powell corrects with a small smile that softens his eyes, “Thank you for your help. I hope we see each other again soon.”

“I hope so too,” Harry says and returns the smile. They shake hands, and then the Warden apparates away.

Harry can’t stop smiling to himself as he walks back across the property to the house. He hasn’t dated or hooked up with anyone since the violent return of his emotions, and even if nothing comes of it, it felt good to flirt a bit. Even under the strange circumstances. 

\- ~ -

The next morning Harry is awoken by a rapping on his window. He looks over, and there again is the raven. Harry gets up and opens the window for the raven who jumps inside. He’s got something in his mouth again and he drops it on the sill like before, looking up at Harry and cawing loudly, looking very proud of himself.

Harry looks down at the plain silver band, then back at the raven. “Thank you, but why are you bringing me these things?” he asks it and furrows his brow, “How did you get back here? You’re not supposed to be able to fly.”

The raven just blinks and tilts his head.

“I can’t keep you. You can’t keep coming back like this. You need to stay at the rescue, okay? They’ll take good care of you there. And besides, I’m leaving here soon,” Harry reasons, more to himself than the bird.

Harry and the raven stare at each other for a long moment. The bird watches him with one little brown eye and gives an innocent, “Kraa?”

Harry frowns and has to strengthen his resolve. “Come on then,” he says and puts his hand out. The raven jumps up on his fingers, flapping his wings at first, then settling. He apparates to a safe spot near the bird rescue and gives the raven back over to them.

“Kraa? Kr-r-raaa?” It seems to ask him as he leaves. Harry sets his jaw and doesn’t look back.

The next morning the raven is back, this time with a silver dollar. Harry grits his teeth and returns it to the rescue.

“He must really like you,” the manager of the bird rescue comments on the third return. “This little guy is a smart one, we’re not sure how he keeps breaking out. Maybe he’s trying to tell you something.”

“Sorry, but I can’t keep him,” Harry says, ignoring how sad the bird looks in its enclosure and how it flaps its wings madly and caws after him.

The fourth day Harry wakes up expecting to see the bird at his window again, but is surprised by its absence. He chews his lip a little, then decides he can’t worry about it. It’s better that the raven stops trying to befriend him. They probably just figured out a way to keep him from breaking out of his enclosure, finally.

Harry gets dressed and goes out to do his work for the day. He turns the horses out and feeds them, then cleans the stalls while they’re in the pasture. On his way out to dump the contents of his wheelbarrow Harry hears a flapping behind him and stops. In looking around he sees the raven hopping after him, flapping every few jumps.

“I thought you’d finally decided to stay at the rescue,” Harry sighs, shaking his head, “Come on then, what have you got for me today?”

The raven walks up to Harry slowly and then drops a new shiny object at his feet. Harry scrunches his brow as he notices that the bird is moving a bit strangely, and the feathers on the side of his head are wet and poking out at an odd angle.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Harry kneels in front of the bird and looks him over, and his stomach drops when he realizes that it’s blood on his feathers.

Harry draws his wand and casts a diagnostic charm he learned from his healing spellbooks. The damage isn’t too extensive or deep and Harry is able to heal it quickly. It looks like he might have got attacked by a cat, probably during his long journey hopping all the way back here, and Harry feels like the worst person alive.

“Oh god, I am so sorry. This is my fault, if I hadn’t been such an arse—” The raven hops into his lap and looks up at him, tilting its head. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Kraa!” It scolds him.

Harry gingerly runs a finger over it’s head, and the raven closes its eyes and leans into the touch. He pets it for a minute before remembering the token it brought him. Harry picks up the object, and after wiping the mud off of it sees that it is a small, silver stag charm.

Harry stares at it for a long moment, then looks at the raven in confusion. “How did you know? Is this intentional?”

“Kraa! Kraa, kraa!”

Harry frowns, looking between the raven and the charm, then lets out a long sigh. “Well, alright then. Come on, we’ve got work to do.” 

“Kraa!” The raven jumps up onto his shoulder awkwardly, flapping his wings to get his balance and buffeting Harry in the face. Once he’s settled Harry returns to his work. Later that day he calls the rescue to let them know the raven came back to him again and that he’s going to keep him.

While initially surprised by the presence of the bird, Rich laughs it off and easily accepts the new animal into their life, buying him treats and spoiling him. Harry holds off telling the old man of his plans to return to England.

“What are we going to name you then? Do you have a name already?” Harry asks as they settle in for the night.

“Kraa?” The raven looks down at him from the bedpost. 

“How about… Jack?”

“Kraa!” The raven cries and shakes out its feathers.

“No? Okay, maybe… Arnold? Merlin? Arthur? Wulfric? Godric?”

The bird preens its feathers, looking entirely uninterested.

“Well, I guess we’ll figure something out,” Harry mutters and goes to sleep thinking about names.

\- ~ -

The next day while Harry is working the raven wanders off for a while and then comes back with an old, beat up, silver nameplate that reads, “ORION.” It looks like the kind of nameplate Rich had on his horses’ halters, but none of them were named Orion.

“Really?” Harry asks the bird, raising an eyebrow, “Orion? That’s what you want to be called?”

“Kraa!”

“Where did you even find this?” 

Harry studies him suspiciously for a minute, and the bird just blinks at Harry innocently.

“You’re too damn smart for a normal bird, you know that?” Harry says and frowns, thinking about Pettigrew, “You’re not an animagus in disguise, right?”

The raven tilts his head and looks at Harry questioningly, “Kraa?”

“Well, alright then, Orion,” he says slowly, “You know, that was my godfather’s middle name.”

Harry and Orion stay at the stable through Sunday, and Harry has to call Hermione and explain that something has come up and he’s going to need to stay in America a bit longer. He tries to remember the spell Lupin and Sirius used on Scabbers to turn him back to his human self, and after finding it in one of his spellbooks he uses it on Orion, just to be sure. 

Of course nothing happens when he does the spell, he is just a raven, a very smart raven, and, Harry suspects, is probably a bit magic. He certainly seems to understand everything Harry says. He wonders if all ravens are magic, like owls.

\- ~ -

On Monday he goes into the Bureau to see Warden Powell and ask how the investigation is coming. 

“Warden Powell, good to see you again,” Harry says when he sees him, smiling.

“Likewise, Harry. And call me Mark, please,” he says, returning the smile. “What can I help you with?”

“Ah, well, I was wondering how the investigation was going.”

“Well, I can’t really discuss the details of the case with you...” Mark starts cautiously.

“Oh, of course,” Harry’s face falls a bit. He really can’t make any plans until he knows there aren’t Dark Witches or Wizards running around Rich’s home.

“Unless… If you’re really interested I can deputize you, and then you could assist me on the case.”

“Er, deputize me? Sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”

Mark explains that in the 19th century when the Bureau was trying to establish itself in America they created a system that allowed Wardens to give some authority to citizens because of how hard it was to police such a large country with their limited resources. Usually it was a temporary arrangement, but it was sometimes used as a way for witches and wizards to get the training needed to become Wardens if their school marks hadn’t been high enough to apply initially.

“It’s still a common enough practice that it shouldn’t be an issue. We all know you have some experience dealing with the Dark Arts, so I’m sure you won’t have any trouble,” Mark says with a small smile.

“But… Don’t you already have a partner you work with?” Harry’s already made up his mind that he wants to do it, but he can’t help but ask.

“Yes, sort of. He’s up in Great Falls right now dealing with cursed wands. There’s only seven of us for all of Montana so we work together when needed and when we can, but often the caseload spreads us thin.”

“Is that..normal?”

“Each state is different,” Mark says with a shrug, then smiles, “So what do you say?”

“Uh, well… I’m already working for Rich, but if I can keep working for him and help you as well I would love to. What do I need to do?”

“First, we start with a duel.”

\- ~ -

Harry is glad that he’d been practicing his defensive magic. Mark’s six years as a Warden make him a challenging opponent. The duel lasts a very long eight minutes and they’re both winded by the end of it. Harry wins after their spells clash and Harry’s just happened to be stronger. He didn’t even have to win the duel, just had to last three minutes against the Warden to prove he’s fit enough to defend himself. Mark doesn’t seem bothered though and he grins at Harry when it’s over.

“Good job,” Mark says between pants and pats Harry’s shoulder, “You really are a powerful wizard.”

Harry grins and blushes lightly, “I don’t know, I thought you had me with that—that thing with the rug.”

Mark laughs. “You’re really good at the nonverbal spells. I don’t know how you managed such a strong Confringo nonverbally.”

“Well I’d never even heard of some of the spells you used before.”

“I can teach you if you like,” Mark offers.

Harry grins.

\- ~ -

Three more months pass as Harry works the case with Mark. Not long into their partnership they started dating; they kept it a secret since it was against the rules, but Harry was happy for the discretion. Rich cottoned on pretty quickly to their relationship after Harry stopped spending so much of his time in the workshop. Harry was worried what the old man would think. He knew homosexuality was more taboo to Muggles than it was to wizards, and the smaller the town the smaller minded its people tended to be. 

To his great relief Rich didn’t seem to care at all and started asking Mark over for dinner regularly. It endeared Harry even more to the old man, and he doesn’t mind Rich thinking that he’s spending all his free time hanging out with his boyfriend rather than investigating Dark Arts. Mark doesn’t mind either, and already has a great Muggle cover story. That endears Harry even more to Mark.

He knows he needs to return to his life in England, but there is a small part of Harry that just wants this warm, comfortable existence to last forever.

A few weeks into the investigation Mark had connected the incident with Orion to an open case they had about dark pendants that made anyone who wore them turn on their loved ones. They merged the cases and started working with another Warden named Miller who had already done extensive research on the pendants and the magic behind them. Apparently they were made with Dark Blood Magic using raven blood, as they were historically believed to be tricksters that would mislead people, as well as being symbols of death and war. 

After having Orion now Harry couldn’t see the connection. Orion was playful, curious, too smart for his own good, and maybe a bit mischievous, but never malicious. He loved shiny things and brought Harry trinkets every day; he was too ridiculous to be a symbol of death.

They found more sites where ravens had been killed and between those and tracking the pendants appearing in the markets, they slowly narrowed down their suspects to one man. He had a cabin in the mountains not far from Rich’s property and Harry and the two Wardens were able to apprehend him after an intense standoff. 

The cabin had been rigged with all sorts of curses and Harry caught the edge of an explosion and spent two days in the hospital healing and growing back the skin that had been seared off his left arm. 

Being stuck in the hospital bed knowing the case was over forced Harry to think about the future. 

Harry had really enjoyed being with Mark, and he enjoyed working with him. Getting a taste of what it would be like to be an Auror was great, and reminded him why he had wanted to do it, but he couldn’t stand all the rules and regulations. The hierarchy bothered him because it felt a bit too much like someone else having control of his life and his decisions.

His relationship with Mark was comfortable and easy. It was what he needed to ease him back into the idea of dating now that he could feel real emotions for another person. Sometimes Harry liked it for its simplicity and how easy it always was. Mark was patient, kind, generous, any man would be lucky to be with him. But on the other side of it, sometimes Harry felt bored, like it wasn’t enough and it could never go anywhere. Mark didn’t understand Harry’s need for a challenge—his competitive spirit. He didn’t want to duel Harry anymore, or race their horses back to the barn, or play Quidditch or Quodpot. He didn’t even own a broom. Mark was the kind of guy that liked to stay in for a quiet night with a bath, or a book, or a cuddle while watching the telly. It was nice, but it wasn’t enough.

\- ~ -

Harry has gotten restless. He needs to get home. He misses everyone so much, but he feels most guilty about leaving Teddy and thinks a lot about how big he’s grown, and how much he must have missed out on. He’s talking a lot more now and he’s already able to walk and run around.

As soon as Harry gets out of the hospital he tells Rich that he’s leaving at the end of the week, and he has to fight to keep from tearing up. The old man had become yet another temporary father figure in Harry’s life, only this time he was the one choosing to leave the father behind. 

“I’m going to miss you, boy. You’re a good kid,” Rich sniffs, grabbing his shoulder and looking him in the eye a moment with a sad smile, then he turns away and starts walking to the barn. “Come on then, still got work to do!”

Harry smiles sadly and snorts, shaking his head and following after him. He’s learned that the old man’s coping mechanism is to hide behind work.

Harry helps the Wardens to wrap up the case, and then he breaks up with Mark. It’s a mutual and amicable breakup. Harry had been upfront with Mark that he wasn’t planning on staying in the States much longer, and they both agreed that they didn’t want to try a long distance relationship, but promised to visit each other sometime anyway.

“You sure you want to come back to London with me? I live in horrible, dark, musty old house that’s infested with doxies,” Harry says to Orion, who caws back loudly and flaps his wings. “Well, alright then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He, of course, was only joking, as he wouldn’t have been able to leave the raven behind. The two had become inseparable. 

After Harry is all packed and is getting his things ready to leave Rich finds him. 

“Ready to go?” Rich asks. He’s going to drive Harry to the airport, Harry couldn’t talk him out of it, so he’s going to pretend and go along with it. 

“Yeah, all ready.”

“Well, here ya go,” Rich says, holding a leather wrap out to him.

Harry looks at it, taking it gingerly and unwrapping it to find a set of Rich’s best carving tools. He inhales sharply, then looks up at Rich. “I—I can’t accept this…”

“Course you can, don’t be stupid. I want you to have them. You’ve got real talent, Harry.”

Harry thanks him many times over during the drive to the airport. 

“I’m going to write, and I expect you to write back, alright?”

“Okay then,” Rich says, smiling indulgently. 

“And you’ll tell me if there’s anything you need, won’t you? I’ll know if you’re not taking proper care of yourself.”

Rich chuckles. “Go on then, get.”

“I’ll miss you, you old codger. Thank you for everything,” Harry smiles and hugs him. Rich hugs him and pats his back. 

They say their last goodbye, and Harry pretends to leave in the airport. Once Rich is gone Harry finds a secluded spot to apparate. 

He has one last thing to do before he leaves the country. Harry goes into a parlour and gets his first tattoo. Once it’s finished he makes the multiple jumps to the landing of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this was a pretty long chapter, but there was a lot to get through. I know it’s a lot of Harry right now but I promise we’ll start seeing more of Draco next chapter! Haven’t decided yet if I’ll eventually switch POVs around, guess we’ll find out!


	3. Chapter 3

“Orion!” Harry had to stop the bird before he went hopping off into the drawing room alone. The raven stops and swivels his head around to look at him. “You need to be careful in this house. I don’t want you wandering off on your own, or playing with things we don’t know are safe. Alright? Not until we get this place cleaned up.”

“Kraa, kraa,” Orion complains, but he jumps back onto Harry’s offered hand. 

They spend the next hour going through the house room by room, checking the state of it. To Harry’s great surprise and relief, it was in better shape than when he had left it. Ron and Hermione had stayed for a few months while looking for their own place. Harry knew they had worked on it while they stayed, but it was still a pleasant surprise to discover that Harry and Orion were the only living things in the townhouse.

Once Harry feels satisfied that the house is safe enough for Orion to wander around in, as he inevitably will, Harry starts to settle in. While unpacking his trunk he hears Ron call up to him. 

“Up here!” Harry answers, throwing the bundle of dirty clothes onto his bed and heading downstairs. He feels a faint flutter of nerves at seeing his friends again. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen them at all since he left, but he was back for good this time, and he’s worried about how their friendship might have been affected by his time away.

As soon as Ron and Hermione see him they grin, and, despite his nerves, Harry grins back. He was happy to see them, and he was happy to see that they were happy to see him. 

Harry rushes down the stairs and they all hug as one group. He gets a face full of bushy brown hair and his anxiety disappears. 

“Kraa?” Orion asks from the top of the stairs, looking down at the three of them curiously. 

“What’s that?” Ron pulls back and asks with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, er. That’s Orion. He’s sort of… mine.” Hermione’s smile widens and she hugs him again. 

Orion hops down the stairs and Harry introduces them. They go down to the kitchen and catch up over steaming mugs of tea. Ron tells Harry all about his Auror training, Hermione tells Harry about her school and plans afterward, and Harry tells them about his time working with Rich and Mark.

Ron informs him that Molly is having a big Welcome Home dinner for him tonight at the Burrow, and around six o’clock they take the Floo over. 

Harry’s anxiety is back full force as he steps into the fireplace, but once again he is proven to be nervous over nothing. Harry is just as welcome at the Burrow as he always has been, and it is a long, merry night. Harry spends most of it answering questions and telling stories about his travels. He keeps the worst of them to himself—he doesn’t want to incite Molly’s wrath over his many reckless adventures. Orion is the focus of much curiosity, and is spoiled rotten with table scraps after Harry tells the story of how he found him. 

After dinner when everyone is winding down Orion finds his way back to Harry’s shoulder, looking just as full and content as Harry felt. Harry is squished on one couch between George and Ginny, with Hermione and Ron on the loveseat opposite, Neville in an armchair, and Luna sitting on the floor.

“You look good, Harry,” Ginny says, then clarifies, “You know, healthy. And a lot happier than when you left.”

“Thanks Gin, I am,” Harry says and smiles at her.

“So who’s the lucky lady, Harry?” George asks.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s brow crinkles in confusion.

“Oh come on, you’re all set to return in August, then suddenly ‘something comes up’ and you stay another three months?” George presses, giving him a suggestive look.

Harry smiles nervously, he hadn’t told anyone yet about his relationship with Mark, or his relatively new discovery about his sexuality.

“What? You were dating someone? You didn’t say anything to us!” Ron exclaims, “I thought you stayed because of the thing with Orion.”

“Well, yeah, I mean—”

“Oh, please,” Ginny cuts in with a teasing smile, “He barely lasted a week in Auror training, Harry wouldn’t stay just for a job he’s not interested in.”

“Exactly my point!” George jumps back in, “So what’s her name then?”

“Er,” Harry’s not really sure how to say it. This isn’t anything like how he’d planned on coming out to his friends, but now was as good a time as ever. “Mark.”

“The Warden?” Hermione gasps.

Ron’s eyebrows shoot up. 

Ginny gives a soft, “Oh.”

Neville turns a little pink, but nods his support.

Luna smiles dreamily, not looking surprised or bothered in the least.

“Huh, didn’t take you for gay,” George says, then grins and thumps his back, “Alright Harry, shagging the Warden. That story just got a lot more interesting.”

“Well, bisexual actually,” Harry corrects, chuckling nervously.

“Hm,” Ron’s face seems screwed up in thought for a moment, then it softens, “Alright then.” Harry had not expected such easy acceptance, but then maybe he had spent too much time around Muggles.

“Harry, that must have been against the rules,” Hermione scolds, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you, and thank you for telling us, of course we accept you for who you are unconditionally, but if anyone found out it could have hurt the investigation. You know, I’ve learned a lot about wizarding laws and standard procedures for law enforcement in my classes…”

Harry’s only half listening to Hermione as she starts lecturing and he turns his attention to Ginny when he feels her shift next to him, and finds her looking at him curiously.

“That makes sense,” she says.

“It does?”

“Mm,” she tones noncommittally, then continues without an explanation, “Are you still together?”

“No, we broke up before I left,” Harry assures, studying her face. Tonight was the first time in a long time that they had been able to chat comfortably like they used to. Harry isn’t sure whether it’s because of all the time apart, or the return of his emotions. He can’t help noticing how beautiful Ginny is, she had really grown up, and all those memories of why he had liked her seep back into his mind.

Harry wonders if she’d be interested in making another go of it, now that he doesn't feel broken anymore, but he’s worried suggesting it might hurt their barely recovered friendship. He isn’t even sure if she is single, last time he was here he heard that she had broken up with her boyfriend, but enough time had passed for her to have started dating someone new. Harry decides to wait, test the waters and see how things go. Maybe the third time will be the charm.

\- ~ -

By the end of the night Harry is exhausted, and as soon as he gets to his bed he collapses and falls asleep almost instantly for how drowsy all the food and wine made him. Despite how tired his body is, his brain is still on overdrive from the excitement and anxiety of coming back home. It fuels a nightmare. 

Harry wakes up at 3 o’clock in the morning from a dream where he is trapped in a room with all of his friends asking him hard questions about what he did in America, why he left when they all depended on him, and if he really thought he could just come back after all this time and everything would be back to normal.

Throwing the damp sheets off himself Harry takes several minutes to slow his breathing and heartrate. He tells himself it’s just a dream, it doesn’t matter, and tries to get back to sleep. 

Harry tosses and turns for a long time, but can’t quiet his thoughts and anxiety. That coupled with the seven hour time change, he has almost no chance. After about an hour of trying to get back to sleep Harry has had enough and he sits up and grabs his glasses, pushing them on his face. 

“Kraa?” Orion asks wearily from his cage.

“Sorry, can’t sleep,” Harry mutters, getting out of bed and throwing on a pair of pajama bottoms over his pants. His body still feels heavy from trying to digest all of the food Molly gave him, and his stomach aches from all the wine he drank.

Orion stretches and shakes himself out, then hops out of his open birdcage. He flaps his wings at Harry to pick him up, and Harry does on his way out of the room. They go down to the kitchen and Harry makes himself a cup of tea, then goes to sit in the conservatory and watches starlings flying in and out of the yard. They sit in silence, Harry drinking his tea with Orion nodding off on his shoulder.

Harry goes through in his mind what he needs to do in the house, and what he’ll need to do to set up a workshop. By the time the sun rises Harry has decided the house will come first, and he sets to work. After all the cleaning Ron and Hermione did most of what’s left is dealing with its deteriorated state and all of the various effects. He pulls out old carpet, rips off cracked wallpaper, and vanishes some old, mouse-chewed furniture. Orion follows him around and tries to help, nipping and yanking at the carpet.

After lunch Harry really starts slowing down, his lack of sleep catching up to him. He has made some good progress on the first floor and decides to try a nap. His head feels clearer after cleaning, and he is able to fall asleep easy enough. 

\- ~ -

Much refreshed later that evening Harry decides it’s time to see Teddy. Confronting Andromeda is probably what has caused Harry the most anxiety about returning. When he left he’d built up a tentative relationship with her, and he knows she had been okay with him leaving, but that was a long time ago. An entire year had passed, and Harry was keenly aware of that time. He knows he’s missed a lot in Teddy’s development, and while scared that Andromeda can’t be too happy about how long he’s been gone, he knows he needs to start rebuilding that relationship, because he is determined to be an active part of Teddy’s life from now on. 

Harry considers sending an owl to be more polite, but that creates a whole new set of complications since he doesn’t have an owl. Andromeda knew he was back in London, and he had always firecalled before, so he pushes away his nerves and sticks his head in the fire.

“Andromeda?” Harry calls. He can hear Teddy babbling something and then footsteps, “I hope you don’t mind—” Harry stops mid sentence when a familiar figure comes into sight.

“Potter?” Malfoy gawks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Draco Malfoy is there, in Andromeda’s house, holding Teddy.

In an instant Harry has pulled his head out of the fire and comes crashing through the fireplace, drawing his wand on Malfoy. “Put him down!” Harry yells.

Malfoy takes a startled step back and turns his body to shield Teddy. “Potter—!”

“Put him down!” Harry yells again, and Teddy starts crying.

“You dare point your wand at me while I hold a child?!” Malfoy spits.

Harry scowls, but slowly lowers his wand, grinding his teeth and saying, “Put. Him. Down.”

Malfoy’s eyes flare in anger and defiance, but then he turns to Teddy and gently hushes him, murmuring quiet reassurances Harry can’t quite make out. Teddy wails louder when Malfoy tries to set him down.

“Coco! No! Nono! Coco!” Teddy cries and clings to Malfoy’s jumper.

Harry starts to feel really weird watching their interaction—confused and angry, with his stomach squirming uncomfortably.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright. Stay here, the adults just need to talk,” Malfoy says to Teddy after putting him on the settee.

As soon as he’s extricated himself from the child, Malfoy turns on his heel and storms up to Harry, grabs his arm with an iron grip and yanks him out of the living room into the hallway. 

Teddy cries in the background as Malfoy stops and Harry wrenches his arm out of the painful grasp. 

“What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?!” Malfoy hisses, and suddenly Harry’s anger is back full throttle.

“What are you doing here?!” Harry counters.

“What am _I_ doing here? _You’re_ the one who came blasting through the bloody fireplace uninvited, threatening me, scaring the hell out of Edward—”

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?!” Harry cuts him off.

Malfoy sneers. “I’m babysitting, Potter! What does it look like?”

Harry opens and closes his mouth. He was not expecting that, and he just shakes his head, furrowing his brow. He argues with the first solid thought his mind can hold on to, “His parents are dead because of your lot!”

Malfoy’s eyes narrow, glaring at Harry in silence a moment before saying in a quiet, cutting tone, “Is that what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night?”

That hits a bit too deep, and Harry bristles, clenching his jaw as he fixes a furious glare on Malfoy. “You have no—”

“Coco?” Teddy asks from the end of the hallway, sniffling and walking up to Malfoy. He puts his arms up and gestures to be picked up, which Malfoy does. Harry has to fight back the protective instinct to snatch Teddy away from him.

“Are you finished, _Potter_?” Malfoy’s voice has lowered, but the fury in his expression is no less diminished.

“I’m not leaving you alone with him.” Harry tries not to glare back as now a scared and sniffling Teddy is watching him from Malfoy’s hip, tears in his eyes. 

\- ~ -

The last fifteen minutes might just be the most awkward fifteen minutes of Harry’s life. Malfoy had sent an owl to Andromeda and since then they had been sitting in the living room not speaking. 

Malfoy was fixedly ignoring Harry, and hadn’t looked at him once since sending the owl. Instead he was focused on Teddy, and as Harry watched him he got the sense that Malfoy was not very comfortable with Harry being there, witnessing his babysitting. His posture was rigid, his shoulders tight, and his movements stiff, but even so, Malfoy was oddly gentle with the toddler. 

Malfoy had reassured Teddy that everything was okay, and that Harry was just some idiot who fell through the Floo and Grandma would be home soon to get rid of him. To Harry’s great surprise at one point Malfoy asks Teddy if he wants to watch a bit of telly before bed, and offers to put on The Lion King.

As soon as Andromeda steps through the fireplace Malfoy descends on her, hissing furiously under his breath.

Harry stands and moves forward, catching the tail end of Malfoy’s whispered tirade. 

“...sanctimonious, arrogant cad thinks he can just waltz right in here and threaten me! While I was holding Edward!”

“Draco—Draco—alright, calm down. I will speak to him. I’m sorry, I should have explained the situation earlier. Will you get Teddy ready for bed?”

Malfoy turns and looks Harry up and down, glaring daggers at him before picking Teddy up and leaving the living room.

Harry feels supremely awkward, and nervously puts a hand through his hair. He’s still furious at the idea of Malfoy being here, being in any way involved with Teddy, but once he sees Andromeda he really starts to feel like he’s stepped in it.

“Harry,” Andromeda says to get his attention, gives him a tight smile, and then gestures to the couch. Harry hesitates, then sits down as Andromeda takes a chair next to him. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologizes quickly, trying to explain, “I didn’t mean to cause trouble—I just—I wanted to see Teddy, and I—but then I saw Malfoy, and—”

“Harry,” Andromeda gently cuts off his blathering, “I understand it must have been a bit of a shock to see your schoolyard rival here, but I was hoping you would have had the sense to handle it better.”

Harry feels like a child being scolded. “I’m sorry, Andromeda. I didn’t mean to frighten Teddy, but when I saw Malfoy I—I don’t know. I didn’t think, I just acted.” Harry sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you I had reconnected with my family, I told you they were helping with Teddy.”

“Yeah, but I thought you meant Narcissa! You never said Malfoy was involved, why would he be? He’s arrogant, and self-serving, and cruel! How can you trust him?”

Andromeda’s brows draw together and her lips turn into a thin line. “A lot has happened over the last year, and Draco is my nephew, he’s family. He’s been a great help to me.” 

_Since you left_ , Harry adds the unspoken words in his mind and scoffs.

“Harry,” Andromeda says reproachfully, “Whatever issues you had in school I would hope that you could put them aside, for Teddy’s sake.”

Harry frowns and looks away, agitatedly putting a hand through his hair.

“Draco has grown a lot, and he is good with Teddy,” she adds softly.

“Well I don’t trust him,” Harry says stubbornly.

“You think I didn’t have my doubts? You think I wasn’t suspicious when my sister suddenly wanted to reconnect? And after everything that happened? After Ted, after Nymphadora—” Andromeda cuts off suddenly, looking away.

Harry watches her sadly, feeling so guilty.

She regains her composure quickly and continues, “You don’t have to trust him because _I_ do, and I am Teddy’s guardian. You may be his godfather, but I make the decision of who is involved in his upbringing. Now I don’t want you fighting with Draco again in my house. Do you understand?” Her expression is all sharp angles. 

Harry frowns and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if he knows how to not fight with Malfoy.

“Harry. You left.” Harry opens his mouth to defend himself, but Andromeda throws up a quelling hand that makes any rebuke die in his throat. “You left, and that’s fine. I understand you needed to do it, but you’ve been gone over a year. Draco has been here, and he has proven himself a capable caretaker.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, looking down at his hands and feeling so small.

“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me you won’t cause any trouble with him.”

Harry sighs, then agrees, “I won’t.”

Andromeda watches him for a moment, then her face softens somewhat and she gives him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re back, Harry,” she says, then stops and regards him, “You are back this time?”

“Yes. Yes, I am back for good.”

“Good,” she smiles again, “It’s late, why don’t you come by tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

Harry takes the Floo back to his home, and is so happy to see Orion waiting for him. He holds his hand out and the raven jumps from the table onto his fingers and Harry puts him on his shoulder, instantly relieved by the familiar, friendly weight.

“Kraa?” he questions nervously.

“I’m okay Rion, just, you know, discovered my nemesis has been raising my godson in my absence.” Harry flops onto the bench at the kitchen table and pushes up his glasses to rub his face. 

Harry really wants to firecall Ron and Hermione to talk to them about Malfoy. His first thought is that he wants to whinge about it, but then it occurs to him that they may have known. No, he dismisses that thought quickly. If they had known they would have told him. Wouldn’t they?

Abruptly Harry gets up and makes to firecall their flat. He sets Orion down and throws some Floo powder into the fire.

“Ron? Hermione?” He calls, and a minute later sees Hermione walk into the living room.

“Harry, is everything okay?”

“Er, yeah. Everything is okay, I just wanted to talk,” Harry says awkwardly, “Sorry, were you in the middle of something?”

“No, no, come through,” Hermione says, and then after Harry steps into their living room she asks, “Do you want a cuppa?”

“Yes, please.” Harry follows her into the kitchen and sits at the counter. “You won’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“What’s going on?” Hermione asks, glancing at Harry as she fills the kettle and puts it on the stove.

“I went to see Teddy, and you’ll never guess who was there,” Harry says, but doesn’t give her the chance to guess, “Malfoy. Malfoy was _babysitting_.” 

“Oh,” Hermione gasps, turning to Harry with a look of surprise and concern. For a second Harry feels ratified, but then Hermione continues, “Oh, Harry. _Please_ tell me you didn’t hex him.”

“I—What?” Harry starts then stops, looking at Hermione in shock, “You knew?”

Hermione sighs. “Of course I knew, how could I not?”

“Ron too?”

“Everyone knows.”

“Everyone knows,” Harry echoes, stunned, “Everyone knows. Everyone knows that _Draco sodding Malfoy_ is raising my godson and no one thought to tell me?”

“He’s not raising him, he just babysits sometimes,” Hermione says impatiently, “I thought you knew? Andromeda said she told you.”

“Yeah, no. She said she had been in touch with her family, but she failed to mention that small bit about Malfoy babysitting Teddy,” Harry seethes, “Funny how no one thought it important enough to mention to me that Draco bloody Malfoy was in any way involved with my godson.”

“Look, Harry, I didn’t want to say anything because I knew how you’d react. If you heard about his involvement you would have come rushing back, and I knew you needed your time away,” Hermione reasons, “And Andromeda thought it would be best if you heard it from her.”

“Yeah, well, I heard it from her. After bursting through the fireplace, and pulling my wand on him.”

“Oh Harry, you _didn’t_.”

“Of course I did! _Malfoy_ was in _Andromeda’s house_ , holding _Teddy_. What the hell was I supposed to think?!”

“Harry, he’s his family.”

“Family they’d disowned, I doubt he’d ever even spoken to Andromeda before.”

Hermione sighs impatiently. “Just tell me you didn’t hex him.”

Harry glares at her and says shortly, “No. I didn’t hex him.”

“Alright. Look, Harry. I’m sorry, I know this must be weird, but you have to understand, you’ve been gone a long time, and Draco is not—”

“ _Draco_?”

“Draco is not the same as he was in school,” Hermione stubbornly presses on over Harry’s interruption. “He’s made an effort to be better, and he is good with Teddy.”

“I can’t believe you. This is Malfoy we’re talking about. Malfoy who bullied us constantly, Malfoy who called you a Mudblood, Malfoy—”

“I know, and he’s apologized for all that,” Hermione says evenly.

“Oh, well, I guess that just makes it alright then, does it?” Harry scoffs, “Interesting how I never got an apology, guess the owl got lost on the way?”

Hermione frowns and glances away a second, then says, “I was hoping you wouldn’t take it this badly. I thought you had forgiven him.”

“Forgiven him? Hermione,” Harry says incredulously, “We’re talking about Malfoy.”

“You spoke for him at his trial.”

“I know I did! That doesn’t mean I’d trust him to take care of Teddy!”

“You should give him a chance, Harry.”

“So what, are you best mates with him now?”

Hermione tilts her head up slightly and says tersely, “No, not best mates. We just study together sometimes.”

“You study together?” Harry asks, taken aback.

“Yes, we’re in the same school you know.”

Harry frowns. “I knew there was something weird between you two.”

Hermione’s brow scrunches as she looks at him critically.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asks with a sigh before she can say anything else. He seriously needs his best friend to help him understand what the hell was going on. If anyone will understand, Ron will. Ron will talk sense.

“He’s on surveillance, he won’t be home until late.”

Harry pushes up his glasses and scrubs his face. “I think I’m going to go,” he says after a quiet moment.

“Harry,” Hermione says, a concerned expression on her face, “I’m sorry you found out like this.”

“Yeah,” is all Harry can think to say in response.

“Promise me you won’t do anything rash,” she presses.

Harry raises an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes. “I won’t. I’ll… I’ll see you later Hermione.”

Harry takes the Floo home and goes straight to bed. He doesn’t even make dinner; he doesn’t feel hungry, just tired, confused, and frustrated. 

Harry dreams that he is in Platform 9 ¾ watching the Hogwarts Express pull in. He anxiously waits for Teddy to come out, is excited to see him, but when Teddy does come out he is a miniature Malfoy—pale blond hair and grey eyes. “Dad!” Teddy yells and runs past Harry into Malfoy’s arms. They both turn and look at him, smiling. 

Harry starts awake, panting and sweating, his heart thumping in his chest. He doesn’t bother trying to get back to sleep this time, he throws off the sheets and moves to sit at the edge of his bed. 

Raking his fingers through his hair, Harry waits for his heartrate to return to its regular rhythm, and then puts his glasses on and pushes himself onto his feet. He takes a quick shower and then makes himself a cup of tea, drinking it in the conservatory with Orion and thinking over everything that happened.

Harry had come back to London feeling so much better than when he left, feeling ready to move forward with his life. He had returned with a clear picture of what his future looked like. Now, it feels like Malfoy had taken that picture and torn it to shreds.

\- ~ -

Once it’s a more reasonable hour Harry braves Diagon Alley to owl Ron and they meet for lunch. Harry is relieved to finally speak to someone who agrees with him. Ron isn’t nearly as supportive of Malfoy’s part in their lives, and he thinks Hermione is mental for giving Malfoy any time of day. 

“Did you know, she’s actually brought him round the flat a couple times?” Ron gripes.

“Seriously?” Harry asks.

“Yeah! To study. I tell ya, it’s bloody weird to come home to Malfoy sitting on your couch. I’m not surprised you pulled your wand on him, I almost did,” Ron says, making a face.

“Right? It wasn’t that crazy,” Harry agrees.

“I don’t understand why everyone is on his side now. Even Mum invited him to Sunday dinner!”

“No!”

“Yeah! He hasn’t come though, thank Merlin for small mercies. I don’t think he could handle the whole family anyway, he almost blew up just being around me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Ron says, leaning forward, “Wish you’d seen it, first time he came to the flat I called him Ferret Face and he got this constipated look like he was trying so hard not to call me ‘Weasel’ or a ‘Blood traitor’ or something.”

“I wish I’d been there,” Harry laughs.

“Yeah, well don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get your chance. The git doesn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon,” Ron grouses.

“Yeah, I really didn’t imagine my return to London having Malfoy involved in any way.” Harry still can’t quite wrap his brain around what happened.

“I hear you,” Ron says, shaking his head, “It’s weird though. I mean, he is still Malfoy, but… he’s sort of been okay.”

Harry groans, “Not you too!”

“No, don’t get me wrong, I still hate the bastard and wish he would get lost, but… He actually apologized to me, it was weird. And he hasn’t insulted me, or my family, or Hermione that I know of. And she keeps defending him so I think if he had insulted her she wouldn’t vouch for him. You know how she is, she wouldn’t take his crap.”

Harry frowns, then says after a moment, “Yeah, I suppose.” He puts a hand through his hair and sighs. “I just don’t understand, out of everybody you’d think she was the least likely to make friends with him. He was horrible to her.”

“I know, believe me. I’ve tried more times than I can remember to talk her out of it, but if I bring it up now we’ll just fight about it, so I don’t,” Ron says, shaking his head, “But I’ve thought about this and maybe he’s kind of like… One of her projects, you know? Like the house elves.”

Harry gives a short laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”

\- ~ - 

Harry feels slightly better after talking to Ron, but only slightly. Ron didn’t want to be friends with Malfoy, and didn’t forgive him for everything he pulled back in school, but it was weird to hear him say that Malfoy seemed okay now. At least Harry knew that if he wanted to gripe about Malfoy he could do it with Ron and not be told off for it.

He tries to shift his focus to cleaning the house for the rest of the afternoon and not think about Malfoy, but has a hard time getting the blond out of his head. Once 5 o’clock hits Harry goes over to Andromeda’s house, which is thankfully Malfoy-free this time. Teddy is scared of Harry and won’t say a word to him, which makes him feel so horrible. 

Andromeda talks to him for a long time, telling him how not long after Narcissa got out of Azkaban she wanted to reconnect. The relationship was difficult, but family was in short supply these days. Malfoy started visiting the summer after he graduated Hogwarts and they had grown close. Andromeda went on about how Malfoy was trying hard to make up for past mistakes and be a better man. He’s done a lot of good. He deserves a second chance.

The more she spoke the less it sounded like she was talking about Malfoy, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if her desire for family was colouring her opinion of him. Harry knew Malfoy too well to be fooled by whatever redemption act he was putting on.

Everything he heard about Malfoy just served to make him more distrustful. Malfoy was involved in several charities, donating his time and money to them. That didn’t surprise Harry, it made sense that Malfoy would try to make himself look good after the war, he just doubted whether Malfoy actually cared about the causes he served. 

What Harry couldn’t believe was that Malfoy had converted the Manor into an orphanage and didn’t live in it anymore. It didn’t make sense. Malfoy Manor was a powerful symbol of old, rich, pureblood traditions that had no doubt been in his family for generations. Harry wondered at Malfoy’s motives, and amused himself by imagining how Lucius must have reacted to the news. 

Malfoy was going to the same school as Hermione to study criminal law, which seemed plenty suspicious on its own. He didn’t need to work, the Malfoy fortune had transferred to him after his father got a life sentence. And then there was his friendship with Hermione. Harry could only imagine what motives lay behind that one.

Andromeda probably thought she was reassuring him, but Harry went home feeling even more apprehensive than he had before.

\- ~ -

That week Harry started investigating Malfoy. He went to the local Library and went through their newspaper archive, scouring them for articles on Malfoy. Orion happily helped him by pulling out different papers and pushing them at Harry, and he was surprisingly good at finding the ones he was looking for. The articles Harry read through backed up what Andromeda had told him.

After exhausting all the newspaper articles he could find on Malfoy, Harry feels odd about it. By all accounts Malfoy was acting like an actual human being, but Harry knew him to be someone totally different. He knew he was self-serving and manipulative, and he would do anything to get what he wanted. He wonders if Malfoy had paid off the papers to write nice things about him, although many of the articles speculated on his motives just as Harry was doing.

Harry tries to get more information out of Hermione, but she says much the same that Andromeda had, and is careful not to say anything too personal about him. She seems oddly protective of whatever friendship she has with him, and adamantly says she isn’t going to betray his trust. They argue about him, and Harry hates that the pointy git had managed to create tension in their friendship.

\- ~ -

Harry makes an effort to see Teddy regularly, and he’s young enough that he seems to forget the incident with Malfoy and quickly warms up to his godfather. Teddy loves Orion and the bird happily plays with him, tapping on his keyboard and playing with his toys, picking up the different shaped blocks and helping him fit them into their correct slots. 

He had worried at first that the toddler might be too rough with Orion, too young to understand how to handle a bird gently, but Harry only had to explain it once. He had also worried about how Andromeda’s cat would react to having a bird around, but they get on surprisingly well. 

Harry’s return to Britain’s Wizarding World had not gone unnoticed, and after visiting Diagon Alley for the first time in over a year he soon found himself the focus of the Daily Prophet once again. 

It doesn’t take long for a reporter to hunt him down and try to interview him. Harry answers each question with buckets of sarcasm and finds he doesn’t mind dealing with the reporter so much that way. The article that comes out the next day questions his mental health, but Harry laughs it off. Somehow it just doesn’t bother him like it used to. Maybe not having to walk through hallways filled with students pointing and muttering and gossiping about him had something to do with it.

After the article comes out Harry gets a rush of mail. He goes through it carefully, avoiding most of the fan mail and only opening stuff that doesn’t look like it would hex him or put a love spell on him. He updates his wards to keep out any potentially dangerous mail. 

Amongst the flood of mail Harry gets an invitation to the Christmas Fundraiser for the Guiding Light Foundation, a centre for orphans, to be hosted the week before Christmas. He accepts the invitation and sends a donation to them. He’s not sure if he would have wanted to go before, but after his time in America he’d learned to enjoy going to parties and being involved.

\- ~ -

A month goes by and Harry spends it getting settled back into his life in London. It takes a long time to get the house cleaned up, and he hires some contractors to replace a lot of the old flooring. He searches for a suitable workshop, but struggles to find the right place. Harry writes to Rich about the process, but he has to use the Muggle post and it takes forever for the letters to go back and forth.

Harry goes to the Burrow every week for Sunday dinner where Molly gets to fatten him up, and Ginny jokes and chats with him like they used to. Harry’s hopes of trying to get back with her are dashed after she admits she’s been seeing Terry Boot. 

Harry, Ron and Hermione had started going out every Saturday. They mostly went to different Muggle pubs to avoid attention, and it was nice to hang out with his best friends again and just chat. Things were easy and fun between them as long as Harry didn’t bring up Malfoy, and that was fine. Harry hadn’t seen him since the first time he’d popped in at Andromeda’s and it was probably best that way, though Harry knew it was only a matter of time before they bump into each other again.

\- ~ -

The first Wednesday of December was not the best day for Harry. He’d spent the morning dealing with a small infestation of bundimun he’d found growing in the Master bedroom. He was glad to have caught the problem early, but having acid spit at him and needing to take a short trip to St Mungo’s was not how he had wanted his morning to go. 

Harry owls Ron as soon as he leaves the hospital, seeing if he wants to grab lunch. Ron can’t today, but asks Harry if he’d like to come to the flat for drinks after he gets off work. Harry goes home and tackles the bundimun with a vengeance in the meantime.

A few minutes after 6 o’clock Harry takes the Floo over to Ron and Hermione’s flat. The living room is empty, but he hears Hermione call from the kitchen, “Ron? I wasn’t sure when you’d be home, I hope you don’t mind—”

She cuts off when she sees Harry walk into the kitchen. Harry stops and his smile drops as soon as he sees who is sitting at the counter. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters as Draco Malfoy looks up at him in surprise, then his expression falls into a glare. Hermione looks nervously between the two of them.

“Harry? I wasn’t expecting you—”

“Oh haven’t I told you? Potter has a habit of popping in through the fireplace unannounced, and uninvited,” Malfoy drawls.

Harry scowls and ignores Malfoy, saying pointedly to Hermione, “Ron asked me over. He said you were going to be at the library studying all night.”

“Oh, well, we were, but they’re doing some renovations and it was a bit noisy, so we came here instead…” Hermione glances at Malfoy.

“I guess we’ll just leave then, won’t we? Wouldn’t want to disturb the Chosen One, even if it means kicking you out of your own flat.”

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry snaps.

“Harry,” Hermione warns, “Ron will be home soon. I’m sure you two can be civil in the meantime.”

“Oh this is civil, Potter hasn’t even pulled his wand on me,” Malfoy says with a smirk.

“Yeah, well, it’s not too late,” Harry mutters darkly.

Orion, who has been watching Malfoy keenly the whole time, asks, “Kraa?”

Malfoy looks at the bird warily.

“Kraa?” He tilts his head to the side.

“What’s it looking at me like that for?” Malfoy asks irritably.

Harry glares. “He’s just curious.”

Malfoy puts up a cautioning hand. “Well keep him away—”

Orion suddenly jumps off Harry’s shoulder at Malfoy, beating his wings madly in an attempt to cover the distance between them.

“AUGH!” Malfoy throws up his arms protectively and jumps back off the stool, which topples over. Orion lands awkwardly at his feet.

“What the hell—?!” Malfoy takes a few quick steps back, but Orion hops after him.

“Kraa!” Orion persists, looking up at him and flapping his wings insistently.

“Get away!”

Harry was stunned. Orion was _asking to be picked up_. 

“Rion!” he snaps, rushing over to grab him.

“Keep that filthy thing away from me!” Malfoy snarls.

“Malfoy, calm down—”

“Calm down?! Your ruddy bird attacked me!”

“He was just being friendly!”

“By trying to claw my eyes out?!”

“He wasn’t trying to claw your eyes out! Don’t be so dramatic!”

“It attacked me!”

“He didn’t—!”

“Stay away from me, Potter! You and your bloody bird!” Malfoy has backed up to the kitchen wall, grey eyes wide with fear and anger. 

Hermione is shocked, her eyebrows as high as they can go with her hands over her mouth.

“I—He wasn’t—” Harry tries, looking between the both of them, then rakes a hand through his hair, “Jesus.” Harry turns and leaves the kitchen.

“Kraa?” 

“Traitor,” Harry whispers, “What were you doing, trying to make friends with him? Malfoy is not a friend! Malfoy is the enemy, okay? Enemy!”

“Kraa?” Orion asks innocently, tilting his head to look up at Harry with one confused eye.

“God, now it looks like I’ve attacked him again, and they’re all going to say poor Malfoy, Harry is so prejudiced against him.” Harry sighs heavily and pushes his glasses up to scrub at his face. He’s just considering leaving when Ron steps through the Floo.

“Wotcher,” Ron says with a grin.

“Hey, Ron.”

“What’s up?” Ron asks, noticing Harry’s sour mood.

Harry jerks a thumb toward the kitchen and Ron walks over. “Oh, hi Hermione, Malfoy. Thought you were going to be in the library tonight.”

“We were, it was too loud,” Hermione says and gives Ron a peck. 

“In a library?” Ron asks skeptically, looking over Malfoy, “What’s wrong with him?”

“ _He_ just got assaulted by Potter’s bird,” Malfoy snaps and tilts his chin slightly higher, glaring at Harry and Orion as Harry leans against the archway into the kitchen.

“Really?” Ron asks, face brightening, “I wish I’d gotten home a little sooner.” Hermione looks at him sharply.

“No one asked your opinion, _Weasel_ ,” Malfoy snipes.

“He didn’t even touch you, Malfoy,” Harry says defensively.

“Enough!” Hermione shuts them down before Malfoy can retort. “Ron, what were your plans?”

“Uh, we were just going to have a drink.”

Malfoy snorts derisively.

Ron shoots him a glare. “But we can go to a pub instead, right Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry says shortly and walks back to the fireplace, and then tells Ron, “I just need to drop off Orion first.” 

Orion isn’t happy about being left at home, he had been very excited to go out with Harry, but Harry tells him that that’s what he gets for trying to befriend Malfoy.

Harry and Ron stay out late and Harry probably has too much to drink, but he doesn’t care. He’s had a shite day.

\- ~ -

Two blessedly Malfoy-less weeks pass before it’s time for the Christmas Fundraiser. Harry gets himself a new set of formal robes, ones that are black and simple, but fairly good quality. He doesn’t want anything too fancy, just something nice enough that won’t make him look like he wandered into the event by mistake.

Shortly after arriving Harry notices one tall, blond git he had hoped wouldn’t be there. Harry avoids Malfoy as much as possible, and Malfoy seems to do the same. The night ends without them doing much more than glare at each other across the room. 

Harry feels good about supporting the nonprofit and decides he wants to be involved with more of them. He asks some of the witches and wizards about other organizations they are involved with and takes note of the names to reach out to. He hears about one that will be having a gala on New Year’s and wonders if he can get an invite to it with such short notice. 

He is curious if Malfoy will be at that event too, and he isn’t excited by the prospect. Harry always had such a visceral reaction to seeing Malfoy, and he didn’t really want to fight with him in public, but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. He resolves to stay away from Malfoy at whatever charities they both attend, like they had tonight. 

The next night when Harry goes to Andromeda’s she tells him that she is going to be having Christmas at her house with Narcissa and Draco. She tells him he’s more than welcome to spend Christmas with them, but she won’t stand for any fighting.

Spending Christmas with the Malfoys sounds like the worst form of torture she could conjure, but he stubbornly refuses to miss a Christmas with Teddy. Harry makes the compromise to come to her house first for presents, and then go to the Weasley’s for dinner.

\- ~ -

The week passes too quickly, and Harry barely manages to get all his Christmas shopping done at the last minute, as usual.

At noon on Christmas day Harry takes a steadying breath, then throws a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace and steps into it.

“Tonks house!” he calls, and he, Orion, and his stack of presents twist through the Floo network and then land in Andromeda’s fireplace in a small cloud of soot. 

Harry steps out into the warm living room, lit by soft yellow light from the tree. Harry ends the shrinking charm he had put on the presents and arranges them with the rest.

“Hawwy!” Teddy comes running into the living room.

“Teddy!” Harry grins and crouches down so the boy can jump into his arms. 

“Kraa!” Orion complains as he is dislodged from Harry’s shoulder and falls unceremoniously onto the ground next to them. He shakes out his feathers and then swivels his head to look at the tree, eyeing all the shiny ornaments hanging off it.

“Rion,” Harry warns as Teddy lets go of him and looks at the new presents.

“Pwessie for me?” Teddy asks with wide, excited eyes.

“That’s right,” Harry says and watches as Teddy walks over to the wrapped rocking horse and grabs at it, “We’re not opening them yet though.”

Orion flaps and jumps up onto a stack of presents next to Teddy.

Harry hears a sharp breath behind him and turns to see Malfoy, eyes fixed on Orion next to Teddy.

“Malfoy,” Harry says and stands, noting his tense shoulders, “Relax.”

Malfoy doesn’t respond. To Harry’s surprise Malfoy is in casual Muggle clothes. He’s wearing what looks like a comfortable, eggshell white sweater and charcoal grey slacks. His hair is down, parted on the left side with most of it swept to the right, hanging loosely. It gives him a much softer appearance. 

“Wion!” Teddy grabs Orion off the presents and holds him to his chest, petting him and grinning. Orion caws softly and closes his eyes. 

Malfoy’s gaze flickers to Harry for a second, then goes back to Teddy and Orion. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s obviously uncomfortable with their interaction. 

Teddy pets Orion for a moment, then looks up and sees Malfoy watching him. 

“Coco! Wion!” Teddy says and runs over to Malfoy, holding the bird up to him. 

Malfoy grimaces and makes no move to touch the bird. Orion looks up at him and caws. 

“Coco!” Teddy complains with a frown, and orders, “Pet Wion!”

“He won’t bite,” Harry says with a smirk, and adds, _Unfortunately_ , in his mind.

Malfoy shoots Harry a glare, and Harry watches as Malfoy’s hand moves forward hesitantly, and then gives Orion a short pet. 

He watches Orion skeptically for another minute, then looks at Harry askance. “You named your bird Ryan?”

“Says ‘Coco,’ ” Harry snorts smugly.

Malfoy tilts his chin up imperiously. “Edward had difficulty with my name at first.”

Teddy walks back to Harry and holds Orion out to him, and Harry takes him and puts him back on his shoulder.

“Me too!” Teddy says and gestures to be picked up, so Harry hoists him onto his hip, “Open pwessies now?”

“Not yet buddy, soon. Why don’t we see what Grandma is doing?” Harry asks, smiling fondly at him.

“Gamma cooking,” Teddy informs him and Harry chuckles. 

When he looks up he sees Malfoy watching them, arms crossed over his chest

“Relax Malfoy, they play together all the time. He’s not dangerous,” Harry says and Malfoy snorts. “And his name is Orion,” he corrects as an afterthought, remembering Malfoy’s question. 

Malfoy lifts an eyebrow. “You named him after a constellation?”

“I didn’t choose it, he named himself,” Harry says a little too defensively.

“How does a bird name itself?” Malfoy asks skeptically, that one eyebrow still raised.

“He’s a very smart bird.” Harry’s already starting to feel combative.

Malfoy eyes him dubiously.

Just being in the same room as Malfoy makes him feel aggravated and raises his pulse. He has to remind himself that it’s Christmas and he had promised to be polite. Relax and be polite for Teddy and Andromeda’s sake, Harry tells himself. If he could get through Christmas with the Dursleys he could survive Christmas with the Malfoys.

“Is that Harry?” Andromeda calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah!” Harry calls back, happy for the distraction, and moves past Malfoy to go to the kitchen. “Andromeda, Happy Christmas!” he says and leans in to kiss her cheek. 

Narcissa Malfoy is with her in the kitchen, chopping vegetables at the counter. Harry had never imagined her ever doing something so ordinary, and he has a hard time looking away from it. She looks thin, and more aged than Harry remembers.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Andromeda says and gestures to Narcissa, “Narcissa, you know Harry?”

“Of course,” she says with a faint smile, “Mr. Potter. Happy Christmas.”

“Just Harry is fine. Happy Christmas, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry says and smiles nervously. This was already shaping up to be the weirdest Christmas he’s ever had, which was really saying something.

“Once I get this bird in the oven we can do presents,” Andromeda tells him as she works butter under the turkey’s skin, “Do you want something to drink? Narcissa made a lovely mulled wine.”

“Yeah, brilliant.” Alcohol sounds like a great idea, and he puts Teddy down so he can take the glass from Narcissa after she pours it for him. “Thanks.”

“Coco,” Teddy whines and Harry turns to see Malfoy leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them all.

“Hm?” He looks down at Teddy and pets his green hair affectionately.

“Want joose,” he says, grabbing at Malfoy’s pants with one hand and pointing at Harry’s wine with the other. 

“That’s adult juice, you don’t want that,” Malfoy says, shaking his head.

“Yes I do!” Teddy insists.

“What happened to the juice I gave you earlier?”

“Gone,” Teddy shrugs and puts a hand out, palm up, as if mystified by his juice’s disappearance.

Malfoy raises an eyebrow at the little boy, but he’s smiling lightly. “Andromeda?” he asks.

“Go on then,” she says without looking up.

Malfoy maneuvers around her to get at the fridge and pulls out a juicebox. Teddy follows, still clinging to his pants. Malfoy pierces it with the straw then hands it to the toddler, who starts drinking immediately.

“Happy?” he asks, and Teddy nods vigorously.

Harry can’t tear his eyes away from their innocently normal interaction. It is so surreal to see Malfoy in this context, looking so soft and casual. It makes his stomach squirm, and his mind can’t seem to accept that this is really happening.

“Scoot,” Andromeda orders them so she can get to the fridge, then she goes to get the vegetables from Narcissa and Harry has to step out of her way. She almost trips over her cat, Mags, who has been sitting in the middle of the kitchen eyeing the turkey. 

“Alright,” Andromeda snaps, “There are too many bodies in this kitchen.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do Christmas at the Manor, there’s so much more space,” Narcissa comments and Andromeda gives her a long-suffering look. 

“You would really want to do Christmas there?” Malfoy asks sharply, and his mother narrows her eyes at him.

“Yes Draco, it is our home,” her polished accent cuts like glass.

Malfoy looks like he wants to respond, but he glances at Harry and fixes his jaw, clearly not wanting to argue in front of current company.

“Enough, if you aren’t helping then get out,” Andromeda cuts in, “Boys, go play in the living room.”

Malfoy takes Teddy’s hand and they leave the kitchen. Harry follows, awkward and not really sure what to do with himself, but once Teddy starts playing with his toys he tells Harry and Malfoy to sit on the floor and play with him. 

Harry keeps an eye on Orion at first to make sure he doesn’t pull any of the tinsel or ornaments off the tree. Malfoy and him don’t speak, they play with Teddy and ignore each other. 

“What’s this one?” Harry asks and hands Teddy one of his blocks.

“Squawe,” he answers and fits it into its slot. 

“What colour is it?”

“Gween.”

“That’s right,” Harry says with a smile and ruffles his hair, “Like your hair!”

Teddy giggles and grabs at Harry’s hand, “Stop!”

“Where’s the star, Edward?” Malfoy asks him and they look around for it, it’s the only block missing from the set. 

Harry notices Orion scrabbling under the couch behind Malfoy, then pops out with the block in his beak. 

“Thanks—” Harry starts, then stops as Orion jumps up onto Malfoy’s shoulder.

“Gah!” Malfoy jerks away from the raven, and Orion throws out his wings to keep himself balanced on Malfoy’s shoulder. 

“Bloody bird,” Malfoy mutters, leaning away from Orion and looking at him suspiciously. Orion bobs his head up and down, offering the block. “Did you steal Edward’s toy?”

“He didn’t, Malfoy. He just found it under the couch,” Harry snaps, glaring at the both of them, “He’s trying to give it to you.”

Malfoy squints at him a second, then holds out his hand and Orion drops the block into it, puffing out his chest importantly. Malfoy hands the block to Teddy, who fits it in its slot, and the magic set starts playing a lullaby now that it’s complete. 

Malfoy frowns at Orion, who hasn’t moved. “Alright. Very good,” he says, wiggling his shoulder in an attempt to dislodge the raven, “You can go now.” 

“Kraa!” Orion caws loudly, startling Malfoy.

“Merlin!” he hisses.

Harry would laugh, if only he wasn’t feeling an intense surge of jealousy. Orion had never stayed on anyone else’s shoulder very long. He also had never given anyone else anything, and Harry has to tell himself it’s not the same thing. He’s just returning a toy, it’s not the same as the baubles Orion gifts Harry with every day.

“Well? Aren’t you going to do something?” Malfoy demands, glaring at Harry, “You’ll pay if your bird craps on me.”

Harry rolls his eyes and reaches over Teddy’s toys to take Orion off Malfoy.

“This sweater is cashmere,” Malfoy continues dramatically. 

Harry bites his tongue, takes a deep swig of his wine and reminds himself that he can’t hex Malfoy on Christmas Day in front of Teddy.

Thankfully Andromeda and Narcissa finally join them to do presents. The majority of them are for Teddy and he gets mostly magical toys, books and some clothes. Much of it looks expensive and high-quality.

Harry is pleased at how excited Teddy is to play on his rocking horse. The design itself was simple and elegant, Rich had an eye for such things and had helped Harry plan it out. He meant to give it to Teddy when he first got back, but after he bought a few wizarding books on woodworking he had decided to weave some spells into it as well and save it for Christmas. Now when ridden it creates the sound of hoofbeats and would lift its head up and neigh. 

“It’s lovely Harry, did you make it?” Andromeda asks after Teddy unwraps it.

“Er, well, yeah, actually,” Harry says, feeling a bit self-conscious for no good reason.

“You made it?” Malfoy asks abruptly.

“Yeah. I made it,” Harry answers shortly, meeting his gaze, “You know, carved it, built it, charmed it. The whole deal.”

Those grey eyes study Harry for a minute and then watch as Teddy climbs on and starts rocking on it. 

“Alright, more presents,” Andromeda prompts to break the tense moment. 

Harry had bought Narcissa and Malfoy presents as well. He had debated about it, but finally decided it would be too rude not to. 

For Narcissa he had gotten an antique, hand carved, silver hairpin that seemed like maybe something she would like. Harry had no idea what she would like, but it was expensive and elegant and the only thing that popped out at him while shopping for her. 

Harry thinks it goes over well, after unwrapping it she gives Harry a short smile and says, “Thank you, Harry. It’s beautiful.” She hasn’t said much all night so Harry takes that as a win. 

Malfoy shoots Harry a leery glance while he opens his present, and Harry has to fight back a smile. 

“Why, Potter. You shouldn’t have,” Malfoy says sardonically after pulling out the silver ferret brooch. 

“I thought it suited you,” Harry says with a mocking smile.

“Why don’t you open a present?” Malfoy asks with a bored expression and gestures at one of them, “That gold one.”

Harry hesitates, looking at his too-easy posture and subtle smile. He picks up the present and unwraps it carefully—even the wrapping paper looks expensive. When he opens the black box inside Harry is surprised to see a set of gold cufflinks shaped as ‘P’s in a fancy script.

“Like them, Potty?” Malfoy drawls.

Narcissa tuts and shoots him a look.

Harry furrows his brow and narrows his eyes at Malfoy suspiciously, but he still looks like his usual bored self. It’s not until Harry reaches in and touches one of the cufflinks that he understands. With his touch the ‘P’ changes shape into a little toilet. Harry touches the other one and sees that they both transform into toilets when he’s in contact with them. As soon as he pulls his hand back they convert back to their original ‘P’ shape.

“Yeah. Great,” Harry says, his tone acerbic.

“I thought it suited you,” Malfoy reflects Harry’s line back at him. His face is carefully neutral, but Harry notices one side of his mouth twitching, fighting a smirk.

“Well?” Andromeda says, and Harry turns the box to show to cufflinks to her and Narcissa, “Oh, lovely.”

“Yeah.” Harry and Malfoy eye each other sourly for a moment before presents resume.

From Narcissa Harry gets an exquisite mantelpiece clock, and from Andromeda he gets a beautiful set of buckskin work gloves that are charmed to shrink or grow to fit the wearer’s hands perfectly, as well as protect his hands from most work related injuries. Harry is stunned that Malfoy only gets three presents—one from each of them—and doesn’t seem bothered by it. He would have expected a Dudley-sized tantrum from the Malfoy he knew at school.

Harry stays for a little while after all the presents are opened to play with Teddy. He and Teddy scribble on the magic drawing board Malfoy got him which is enchanted to make the drawings come to life and move around the board. They race around the toy cars Harry bought him, and Orion chases them. Once Teddy gets bored with that he starts to fiddle with a magical stone puzzle set Narcissa gave him. 

While Malfoy is discussing the issues of the DMLE’s current search and seizure policies with Andromeda, Orion hops over to him and caws. Malfoy stops and frowns at the bird, then continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Harry looks up and watches the interaction, then goes back to pretending like he isn’t listening to Malfoy. 

Malfoy speaks about the subject passionately, and Harry is caught off guard by it. Harry has never heard Malfoy speak with sincere interest about anything, but he tells himself he’s only listening to pick up on any hints as to why Malfoy is studying the subject. Harry still thinks it’s suspicious that he would go into criminal law. 

“Kraa!” Orion interrupts him again, flapping at him and Malfoy glares at the bird.

“Yes?” he inquires, and Orion takes that as an invitation to jump up in his lap. Malfoy leans back and sighs. “What do you want?”

“It’s alright, Draco. He’s very sociable, he does that with everyone,” Andromeda says with a smile.

“Just imagine him like a big, goofy labrador,” Harry puts in.

Malfoy frowns at him. “I’ve never met a labrador.”

Harry looks at him skeptically. “Alright, fine. Imagine him as a big, clumsy dog that is too friendly, and smarter than he lets on, but trapped in the body of a bird. That should give you an idea of his personality.”

Malfoy stares at Harry curiously for a moment, then looks at Orion, who looks back at him innocently. 

“No, no that’s far enough,” Malfoy warns him when Orion hops further up his leg, eyeing his shoulder.

Harry tilts his head away to hide his smirk and continues to help Teddy with the puzzle. Once they fit all the stone pieces together into the shape of a little wolf it comes to life and runs around the living room. Teddy chases it, laughing gleefully. 

Harry stands and stretches, then checks the time. “I should probably get going.”

“Of course, I’m glad you came, Harry,” Andromeda stands and gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Happy Christmas, send Molly and Arthur my love.”

“I will. Happy Christmas, thank you for the presents,” Harry says then picks up Teddy and gives him a big hug, “Enjoy your presents little man.” He kisses his head and puts him down. 

“Happy Christmas, Harry, it was nice to see you,” Narcissa says softly.

“Yes, yes, Happy Christmas, Potter. Now get this thing off me,” Malfoy cuts in impatiently before Harry can respond. 

Harry glares at him then says more to Narcissa than Malfoy, “Happy Christmas.” 

Orion jumps up onto his hand after he holds it out, then he gathers his gifts and takes the Floo back to his house to drop them off. 

Christmas at the Burrow is as chaotic as ever and stepping into it feels like getting whiplash after the relatively placid Christmas at Andromeda’s house. Regardless, Harry is happy to be amongst the Weasley clan. The house is warm and comfortable and alive with activity, it feels like home. 

Ron is excited to hear about how his Christmas with the Malfoys was, and seems disappointed with how mundane it sounds. He was hoping to hear some stories about Malfoy that they could laugh about, but settles for empathizing with Harry at how awkward most of it was. 

Dinner is a loud, messy affair, and once it’s finished they pop Wizard crackers. They swap each other toys and hats, and then Molly pulls out her famous Christmas pudding which is devoured in minutes. 

They crowd into the living room after desert to open presents. Harry appreciates the more personal gifts and puts on his new Christmas sweater from Molly as soon as he gets it.

At the end of the night after Harry gets home, he goes over the day in his mind as he lays awake in bed unable to sleep. It all feels so surreal. The Burrow was a rock, a solid foundation he could feel his feet on, but Christmas at Andromeda’s felt like some strange, intangible dream. Had it really happened? Is that what Christmas was going to be like for the foreseeable future? 

Harry doesn’t know what to think of Malfoy with his soft sweater and his loose hair and his impassioned discussion about the problems with DMLE procedure. Now that it isn’t right in front of him, he has a harder time accepting that it was a real thing that had happened.

\- ~ -

A week later Harry finds himself at the Initium Novum Homeless Association New Year’s Gala. Being who he was it hadn’t been hard to obtain an invite to the event. Harry wasn’t surprised to see Malfoy there as well, and he sticks to his plan of resolutely ignoring him. Or at least not talking to him. It’s hard not to notice Malfoy, his energy is like a magnet. 

Harry pretends that he’s not watching Malfoy moving across the room, schmoozing with all the different attendees. Malfoy smiles and laughs and preens like a peacock, looking perfectly at home in the lavish ballroom, surrounded by important witches and wizards, no doubt putting to good use the social skills he’d surely been taught from a young age. Harry wonders how many of his interactions are real and how many are fake.

Harry has plenty to keep him busy, as there are many guests that want to speak to the Boy Who Lived. He tries to focus on the different people and discussions, but his eyes tend to wander in the lulls in between or when he’s stuck in a particularly boring conversation.

It’s difficult not to be reminded of how Malfoy looked at Christmas, and Harry feels weird seeing him in these different contexts. At least here he resembles more of what Harry would expect, the pompous boy looking to gain the favor of important people with his primping and flattering. The softness of his appearance at Christmas was gone, replaced with his typical long, sharp lines and angles. He had his hair combed back again and was wearing an obviously high quality, stylish set of mauve robes. 

There were several times when their eyes met, and each time Malfoy gave Harry an annoyed look and Harry glared back. It irritated Harry. He knew Malfoy hated him, but he was looking at Harry as if he didn’t belong here, like he was a stray dog that had wandered in by accident. Malfoy had no more right to be at these charities than he did.

Harry is doing a fine job of avoiding Malfoy, until Malfoy ruins it. He managed to get through most of the night without talking to him, but after a while Harry had moved off to the side of the room to take a breather from the seemingly never-ending chain of people wanting to talk to him. That’s when Malfoy breaks their unspoken agreement to steer clear of each other. 

“Potter,” he greets and slides up next to Harry, regarding him a moment before turning to face the same direction, mirroring Harry’s posture by leaning back against the wall. 

“Malfoy,” Harry returns.

“I see you left that terror at home,” Malfoy notes of Orion’s absence.

“I see you didn’t.”

Malfoy snorts. “Don’t be bitter, Potter. It takes a much bigger man to be able to handle me.”

Harry looks sharply at Malfoy and furrows his brow. Did Malfoy just flirt with him? No, no. Definitely not. He wasn’t even looking at Harry, and his expression hadn't changed at all. He still looked as bored and above-it-all as ever. Harry had clearly spent too much time in gay bars.

Malfoy wasn’t even gay, he’d dated Pansy all through school, had probably married her and was working on making more pretentious, pureblood children. Although she hadn’t been there at Christmas, and it didn’t look like Malfoy had come here tonight with anyone. Now that he thought about it Malfoy didn’t wear a wedding band either. Not that it mattered. Harry wasn’t interested in Malfoy in that way. At all.

Malfoy finally turns his head and meets Harry’s gaze, grey eyes darkened from the soft, overhead lighting. He raises an eyebrow at Harry, and Harry looks away.

“For someone who invited himself to the party, you look like an awful lot like a Bowtruckle plucked from its tree,” Malfoy comments.

Harry gives him a look, but then decides he isn't surprised Malfoy would find out about Harry getting himself invited. “Yeah, well I’m not here to brownnose my way into high society.”

“Right, Saint Potter, ever the martyr. Braving the deadly socialites to save the homeless.” Malfoy sneers, his words taking on a sharper edge. 

Harry sighs quietly through his nose. “Did you actually need something, Malfoy? Or did you just come here to irritate me?”

Malfoy looks like he’s debating saying something horrible, and is silent a second before speaking. “No, much as I love our little chats, I did not interrupt your brooding to bask in your brilliant wit and ceaseless charm,” he says, every word oozing sarcasm, “Irritating you is just a bonus.”

“Are you certain you’re not enjoying this? Because you sure are taking a long time to get to the point.”

“Fine, Potter,” Malfoy sighs dramatically, “So impatient. I would have thought the Chosen One might have more stamina than this.”

Once again Harry thinks Malfoy is flirting with him, but once again Malfoy looks like he’s completely unaware of what it sounds like he’s implying.

“Malfoy,” Harry snaps.

Malfoy tuts. “Do you know who Baron Edmund Lloyd is?”

“No, should I?”

“Yes, you should, you’re standing in his house,” Malfoy says, looking very pleased to know something Harry doesn’t know, and goes on to explain it to him as if he’s an imbecile, “He’s a very old, very important wizard. He co-founded the Initium Novum Homeless Association, and many others like it. He’s a lifelong humanitarian. You’d like him.”

“Malfoy. The point.”

“Well, he heard you were here tonight and of course would love the honor of speaking to the Saviour of the Wizarding World.”

“Fine, where is he?” At this point Harry doesn’t care who he is, he just wants the excuse to get away from Malfoy.

Malfoy points into the crowd saying, “Do you see that portly man, there? In the garish red robes?”

“Yeah, that’s him?”

“That’s him,” Malfoy confirms.

“Right. Thanks,” Harry says and pushes off the wall.

“You’re welcome,” Malfoy says a little too sweetly.

Harry glances back to find Malfoy smiling at him, which is weird, but he ignores it and heads toward the old wizard. 

After ten minutes of listening to the old man wheeze on about the best methods for breeding greyhounds, Harry has come to the conclusion that the Baron Edmund Lloyd did not request to see him, and was probably not the person Malfoy described him as. 

Malfoy had set him up. Malfoy had trapped him in a horrible conversation with this boring, single-minded old man that wouldn’t listen to anything Harry said. He was completely unaware of Harry’s personal space, spit a lot when he talked, and had the worst breath Harry had ever smelled.

At first he was too polite to try to leave, and he let the old man go on, but after a while it became clear that the man could talk the ear off an elephant. 

Harry tried a couple times to politely excuse himself, but the old wizard bowled right over Harry’s excusal with another story about his racing hounds. Harry was getting flashbacks of Aunt Marge, and he had to wonder if Malfoy had somehow found out about that particularly horrible detail of his childhood. 

It took over thirty minutes before he could extract himself, and only then because the countdown to midnight had started. As soon as he is away from the old wizard Harry scans the room for Malfoy, and once he spots the blond he locks eyes with him. Malfoy gives him a very self-satisfied smirk and lifts his champagne at Harry. 

Harry glares darkly at him, then grabs a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and lifts it to Malfoy in return. 

“...Three...Two...One! Happy New Year!” the crowd cheers. Harry and Malfoy drink without breaking eye contact.

Malfoy had just declared war, and Harry was happy to oblige him.

\- ~ -

The next event isn’t for another month, and in that time Harry has plotted his revenge, and started waging a different battle with Malfoy. 

After seeing the kind of presents Malfoy had gotten for Teddy at Christmas, Harry had noticed that a lot of the things in Teddy’s room were high quality and expensive looking, and there was entirely too much green. He knew they must have come from Malfoy, and so Harry started bringing gifts over every time he visited. He bought Teddy a plush red blanket and put it on top of his bed, and the next time he came over he noticed Teddy had a new green pillowcase and sheets. Harry bought him a Muggle children’s book and left it on the nightstand, and in response saw new a new wizarding children’s book in its place the next time he came over.

Harry derives more pleasure from the silent competition than he would like to admit, and spends a fair amount of time rearranging things in Teddy’s room to feature his presents more prominently than Malfoy’s. After every visit he would come back to find that Malfoy had done the opposite in Harry’s absence. 

It made the month pass quickly and soon enough Harry finds himself at another charity event with Malfoy. 

This time they are at a fundraiser for an owl rehabilitation centre. Harry spends the first half of the event bidding on things in the silent auction and ignoring Malfoy. He pretends like everything is the same as ever to lull Malfoy into a false sense of security, while still keeping a close eye on him.

About an hour into the event the perfect opportunity arises when Malfoy sets his glass down and gets into a heated discussion with a witch about the archaic methods of dressage training still employed by some equestrian schools. As soon as the glass is out of his hand and Malfoy looks distracted enough, Harry covertly levitates a square of Profoundly Pissed Party Patron to the drink and drops it in. 

Harry watches it dissolve into the wine and then waits. After a few minutes Malfoy picks his glass back up and takes a sip from it. He keeps talking as normal, then takes another sip and burps. 

Malfoy seems as startled by the burp as the witch he’s speaking to, and he puts a hand over his mouth. “Oh, shorry,” he slurs, then furrows his brow and looks down at his drink. 

“Exshcu-shcuse me. _Exshcuse me_ ,” he tries multiple times to say it without slurring. He takes a step back from the witch and loses his balance, throwing out a hand to counterbalance and hitting another wizard with it, “ _Woah_.”

The witch grabs at his arm to try and steady him and he yanks back. “Do not—do not _touch_ meee.”

The witch pulls back and Malfoy sways dangerously. “What. What have you _done_ to me?” 

Harry has to put a hand over his mouth to stifle a laughing fit. Malfoy was a hilarious drunk. More indignant and stuck up than ever while trying to act dignified about it. 

When one of the wizards next to him suggests that he’s had a bit too much to drink Malfoy’s response is beautiful. He stubbornly denies being drunk, accuses everyone else of being drunk, and slops his wine down the wizard’s robes after pointedly thrusting his glass at him. Harry can’t help but laugh out loud and Malfoy twists around in the direction of the sound, nearly falling into a waiter carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

“Potter!” He says too loudly and stalks over to him. Harry thinks it’s meant to look intimidating, but his stumbling ruins the effect. 

Malfoy’s hair is combed back as usual, and tonight he’s wearing fashionable periwinkle blue robes that do wonders to his pale skin and light hair. His loose, drunken state is a brilliant contrast to his stiff, carefully composed presentation.

Malfoy gets in Harry’s face and pokes at his chest. “You,” he’s suddenly whispering, “ _You_ did this to me.”

Harry’s giant, shit-eating grin answers for him.

“How _dare_ you!” He hisses under his breath, standing so close that Harry can see the grey striations in his eyes, “ _You_. What did you _do_ to me?”

“Thought that would be obvious, Malfoy,” Harry says, taking a small step back, “You are piss drunk.”

“I—I do Not get drunk!” Malfoy follows Harry’s step and jabs at his chest again, whispering, “ _You_ got me. Drunk.”

“Enjoy it Malfoy, you should let loose more often,” Harry says as casually as he can, definitely not noticing the long, elegant lines of the other man’s neck right in front of his face. 

Malfoy was standing so close Harry could smell him, he could smell the wine on his breath, and his cologne, and underneath that the crisp scent of citrus. Harry swallows and steps back again, starting to feel a bit hot.

Malfoy steps after him and puts his hand on Harry’s chest, as if to push him, but doesn’t. “Potter,” he accuses in a low tone, “ _You_ ,” he starts, then shakes his head, “Ugh!” 

Malfoy jerks away from Harry, but he loses his balance in the process. His hand shoots out and long, slender fingers pull on Harry’s arm to stop him falling over, but he overbalances and ends up leaning into Harry. 

Their eyes meet and Malfoy gives a slow, drunken blink, and Harry sees for the first time how long his eyelashes are. They’re blond, and Harry had never noticed them before. From a distance they blended into his pale face and made him look severe. But now Harry sees them, and they’re beautiful.

Malfoy tries to glare at him, though it turns out making him look more confused than angry. “Get off me, _Potter_ ,” he slurs. 

“I—I’m not on you! You’re leaning on me!” Harry stutters, rolling his shoulder and trying to move away from him.

“No. I am. Not,” Malfoy insist, but he lets go of Harry nonetheless and straightens. He grimaces as if in pain, and whines, “How _long_? How long is this going to _last_?”

“I don’t know, Malfoy. Enjoy it,” Harry says and tries to smirk, then quickly walks away from him. 

“Potter! _Potter_!” Malfoy hisses after him, but Harry doesn’t stop. He wanted to get Malfoy drunk so he would make a fool of himself, not both of them. 

Harry had meant to ask him about his friendship with Hermione, his involvement with the charities, and his motivation for studying criminal law while in his inebriated state, but now it was the farthest thing from his mind.

With a glance behind to make sure Malfoy wasn’t following him, Harry steps out into the hallway and takes a deep breath. He pushes his glasses up to rub his face. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It doesn’t matter. His neck, his eyelashes, the way he smells. It doesn’t matter. Lots of people are attractive. So what if Malfoy happens to be one of them?

Harry had never noticed before because Malfoy had spent all of school scowling and sneering, and that wasn’t attractive. It exaggerated all those sharp angles in his face and made him look mean. He’s only noticing now because he’d spent so much time with him lately. And of course he would notice those things now that he was aware of his sexuality and had been with men. Of course he would notice those long, slender legs, and his delicate fingers, and how when he wears his hair down and smiles it smooths out all those too-sharp features.

“Fuck.” Harry cards his hands through his hair, taking slow breaths and waiting for his erratic heartbeat to slow down.

It doesn’t matter what Malfoy looks like because he’s a cruel, selfish, manipulative bastard. And those qualities are not attractive. Those qualities outweigh any physical attraction Harry might feel. It’s just been too long since he’s had sex. He hadn’t been with anyone since Mark. That was the issue, Harry just needed to let out some sexual frustration. 

Harry returns to the fundraiser with a much clearer head. He doesn’t see Malfoy for a while and that’s fine with him. Once he sees Malfoy again he looks like he’s sobered up, and he scowls at Harry and it’s perfect. That’s the ugly, pointy prat Harry knew. That’s the face of someone Harry would never consider being with. He’s able to push all other thoughts of Malfoy away because they don’t matter.

Other than exchanging glares Harry and Malfoy don’t interact again that night. Harry downs a few glasses of wine and when an attractive witch starts flirting with him he’s tipsy enough to let her. He’s still ridiculously awkward around women and has her do most of the talking so he doesn’t make a fool of himself. He’s at least learned that much after all the hookups he had in America. 

Harry found it was easier to talk to men, but it was probably a better idea to go home with a woman tonight if he could. So Harry does his best not to be too awkward and to show enough interest that they go to her place after the gala is over. Her voice is sweet and encouraging and erases all thoughts of Malfoy from Harry’s mind.

It’s very late by the time Harry makes it back to his house and crashes in his bed, warm and sated and mostly unrepentant.

\- ~ -

The week following Harry’s indiscretion an article about him comes out in Witch Weekly with an, “exclusive look into Harry Potter’s sexual proclivities.”

Jumping into bed with some witch he didn’t know in Britain probably wasn’t the smartest idea. He should have known she would sell the story, but at least the article wasn’t an explicit account, and it seemed mostly positive, describing him as, “socially awkward, but knows what he’s doing in bed,” and, “a generous lover.” Could have been worse.

The next event Harry is invited to isn’t until Easter, and Harry worries what Malfoy might be planning in the meantime. He tries to focus on his work and push away all thoughts of Malfoy, but it’s starting to get harder. 

Andromeda had gotten sick of all of the new things being brought into the house, cluttering up Teddy’s room. She laid down strict rules that he was not allowed to buy Teddy anything that he already had or anything that they didn’t have room for. When he started to complain she told him that she had said the same thing to Malfoy and that they should spoil Teddy more with their time than their money.

This, of course, did not stop their competition like she hoped it would. Instead it just meant that they had to get more creative with their gifts. True to style Harry bought Muggle glow-in-the-dark stars that he stuck to the ceiling, and Malfoy bought a magic night-light that filled the room with tiny, floating stars. Malfoy gets a miniature toy dragon that flies around the room, and Harry gets an airplane model that hangs from the ceiling.

It didn’t take long for Andromeda to put a full stop to their competition by forbidding them from bringing any gifts at all unless it was Christmas or Teddy’s birthday. She threatens to burn anything they bring in and Harry knows she really would.

\- ~ -

Two and a half months pass until Harry sees Malfoy again. In the meantime Harry falls into a routine of working on the house or his workshop on the weekdays, babysitting Teddy Friday nights, Saturday pubs with Ron and Hermione, and then Sunday dinners at the Burrow. 

Teddy’s birthday comes around and the party is larger and more comfortable than Christmas. Most of the Weasley’s are there and Harry has a much easier time avoiding Malfoy. 

Harry worries that Malfoy might try to get him back for the last event and he keeps his guard up at first, but after a little while it becomes clear he isn’t going to. Malfoy seems more tense and withdrawn than usual, being around so many Weasley’s, and he spends most of his time talking with Hermione or playing with Teddy. Harry had wondered if he would dress like he had at Christmas, but he doesn’t—he’s as tightly buttoned up as ever.

By the end of the night Harry and Malfoy had barely exchanged more than polite greetings, and Harry was shocked that Malfoy hadn’t insulted anyone. 

A week later Harry goes to the Easter charity, and Malfoy’s revenge comes in the form of a reporter from the Gatwick Gazette. When she approaches him midway through the event Harry thinks he’s just having a regular conversation until the questions start to become more invasive. Once she starts asking about Harry’s secret families in America, and how many women has he gotten pregnant Harry realizes his mistake. 

When Harry denies it she presses on, saying she got the information from a trusted source and Harry searches the crowd for Malfoy. It’s easy enough to spot the platinum blond, and he smirks at Harry when Harry glares at him. The next day an article comes out about Harry’s seven secret wives, and Harry can’t wait until the next event.

\- ~ -

By the time the Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts comes around two weeks later, Harry is itching to get one over on Malfoy, but he isn’t sure if Malfoy will come to it, considering his history. 

The event is in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and Harry feels so much more comfortable being back now than he had all of eighth year. He’s asked to give a speech, and when he goes up to do it he scans the Hall for Malfoy. Harry is only mildly surprised to see that he did come, and he can’t wait to get back at him for that horrible article. 

Harry has never liked giving speeches so he keeps it short, but sincere. He talks about honoring the fallen and working together to rebuild life, love, and trust after the war. He’s glad once it’s over and he can fade back into the crowd.

Once again Harry has to covertly keep an eye on Malfoy and wait for the right opportunity to put his plan into motion. Harry got a little help from George on this one, he had recommended one of his Weasley Wizard Wheezes. Harry knows a lot of the students from their year are here tonight and thinks it might be nice for Malfoy to have a little fit in front of them. Nothing too extreme, just go a bit mad and give them something to laugh at since Malfoy had spent six years laughing at all of them.

At the first chance he gets he discreetly slips some of the powdered candy into Malfoy’s glass of wine. It takes a little while to take effect, and in the meantime Harry chats with Neville about some new plant he’d just imported from Malaysia. 

Suddenly, a howl pierces the babble in the hall and Harry snaps his head around to watch as Malfoy howls on and on for a solid ten seconds before dropping his head and scowling at everyone around him. He actually growls at a nearby witch, then starts ripping at the collar of his robes. Hermione grabs his arm and he yanks it away from her, taking a couple steps back. Malfoy looks around, then sees the open doors of the Great Hall and runs out of the room. Another howl echoes back through the hall.

It wasn't exactly the reaction than Harry had expected, but still funny, and he wishes Malfoy had stuck around a bit longer. The room buzzes with people talking about it, and Harry notices McGonagall striding out of the hall after him.

Ron finds Harry, laughing. “Did you see him? He went mental! Who do you think did it to him?”

Harry grins, and Ron’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Blimey! Was it you?”

“Yeah, gave him something George cooked up,” Harry says, shaking the bag at Ron.

“Brilliant!” Ron claps his shoulder and laughs.

Harry notices Neville isn’t laughing and looks a bit uncomfortable, but before he can ask about it Hermione joins them.

“Stop laughing!” She orders, frowning, “That was horrible! I can’t believe someone would do that to him!”

“Come on, Hermione. It wasn’t that bad,” Ron says, “It was funny!”

“No it wasn’t! You don’t know how hard it was for him to come tonight. I was worried someone might try something like this, we need to find out who did it,” she says, looking sharply around the crowd.

“Er, well, actually—” Harry starts saying, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Oh Harry, tell me it wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, so? It was just a prank,” Harry says defensively.

“No it isn’t! Why would you do that? People look to you as an example! If you go around bullying him other people will think it’s okay for them to do it too.”

“I’m not bullying him! We’ve been messing with each other at events like this for months now.”

Hermione glares critically at him. “Honestly! I had thought you would be mature enough by now to stop provoking him.”

“He provoked me!”

She shakes her head at him, clearly disappointed, and leaves the Great Hall.

Harry frowns and looks back at Ron. “What’s the big deal? He was behind that article about all the wives I supposedly have.”

“Seriously?” Ron laughs, “What a prat.”

Later, after the powder has worn off, Malfoy stomps back into the Great Hall, his chin tilted up imperiously high, challenging anyone to stop him, black robes sweeping behind him. He looks a lot like the Malfoy Harry used to know, not the softer man he had started seeing lately. 

Malfoy carries himself with a stiff, haughty gait, but his perfect hair is tousled and he has dirt on his disheveled robes and on his cheek. He makes a beeline for Harry then grabs his elbow roughly, plastering a big, fake smile on his face as he asks Seamus if he can steal Harry away for a minute.

“At least let me finish my drink,” Harry complains as Malfoy pulls at his arm.

Malfoy’s wand cuts through the air with a sharp, resolute jerk and Harry’s glass flies out of his hands and crashes on the floor, splashing wine back on him.

“Oi!”

“There, you’re finished,” Malfoy snarls and drags Harry out of the Great Hall, fingers digging into Harry’s arm painfully.

When they stop in the empty hallway Harry jerks out of his grip. “What the fuck Malfoy?!”

“What is _wrong_ with you?!” Malfoy is positively livid. “That was so wildly inappropriate, I can’t even—”

“Calm down, it was just a joke,” Harry cuts in defensively.

“A joke?! You think it’s funny to have _me_ act like a _werewolf_ on the Anniversary of the _Battle of Hogwarts_?! Do you know how many people there are here who got attacked by Greyback?!”

“As if you care Malfoy, you’re only interested in your public image!” Harry snaps, his anger quickly rising to meet the other man’s.

Malfoy’s eyes narrow and his voice gets low and sharp. “All that talk about repairing the community, and moving forward—you’re nothing but a hypocrite, Potter.”

“Yeah? And you’re a coward. Maybe if you had stood up back then you wouldn’t have to do so much arse licking now. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Every line and angle in his face sharpens into a cold fury. “I did what I did to protect my family.”

“You did it to save your own neck!” Harry spits.

“What would you know about giving everything to save your family? You never had one.”

Harry pulls his wand on Malfoy and Malfoy draws his in response, barely a half second behind him. Harry seethes with anger, wants to hex the ever living hell out of him, but then Malfoy glances around, seems to remember where he is, and curtly puts his wand away. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” he snarls and then sweeps down the hall and out of the castle. 

Harry spends the rest of the night fuming, not really hearing any of the conversations around him.

\- ~ - 

The next time they see each other is at Hermione’s graduation that June. Harry goes to support Hermione, but unfortunately Malfoy is in her graduating class. 

A month has gone by and Hermione has talked to him about their competition and what he did to Malfoy. She agrees that it was an inappropriate thing to do at the Anniversary, and Harry does start to feel a little bad for it. In his defence he didn’t think Malfoy’s reaction would be that extreme, George had told him it would just make him act, “a little wild” and pass quickly. Maybe Harry should have felt a little more concerned at George's enthusiasm and vague description, but Malfoy had handled being rat-arsed drunk just fine and going a little crazy didn’t seem that different.

Malfoy is clearly still furious about what happened at the Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. He scowls at Harry any time their eyes meet and keeps a clear distance from him. That’s fine with Harry, until they get to the afterparty.

Malfoy silently unleashes his wrath on Harry by hitting him with hex after hex. He makes Harry’s head grow twice the size, then gets him with a hex that sticks his feet to the ground and makes him spill his whiskey everywhere when he tries to move. After Harry starts squirting yellow pus out his nose he swivels around to look for Malfoy, but Malfoy is in a conversation with a classmate, doesn’t even have his wand out, and looks perfectly innocent. 

“ _What_ is going on?” Hermione asks after ending the pus-squirting hex.

“Nothing,” Harry insists angrily. 

While trying to think of a good way to get Malfoy back he gets hit with a tripping jinx. It sends Harry careening into the snack table, knocking it over and sending food flying.

“Malfoy!” Harry jumps up, wand drawn and pointed at him, shrimp falling out of his hair.

Malfoy acts startled, looking at innocent as ever, not even facing Harry fully, his wand put away. Everyone around starts murmuring and Harry knows Malfoy must have planned this to make him look like the bad guy. Harry can’t hex him now, not like this. 

Grinding his teeth Harry puts his wand away and stomps off. Malfoy leaves off for a while, then hits Harry with a mild stinging jinx. 

“Bloody prick,” Harry mutters under his breath, rubbing his aching side. He walks past Malfoy and buffets his shoulder as hard as he can, intentionally choosing the arm holding his glass of wine. 

Malfoy gasps and looks down at his couture sand coloured robes spattered in red wine, eyes wide in horror.

“Oops,” Harry says, not at all sorry, and smirks. 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

“Hm, shame,” Harry says in bored tone.

“Harry! Draco!” They turn to see Andromeda marching up to them. She pulls them aside and gives them both an ear-bashing, firmly putting an end to their conflict.

\- ~ -

“See? I told you he hasn’t changed. He’s still a malicious bastard, tormenting me for no good reason,” Harry argues to Hermione as they sit in her kitchen a week later.

“If you hadn’t provoked him—” she starts, but Harry cuts her off.

“No, he started it! He started the whole thing because he’s the same nasty piece of work he always was! He can’t get off without torturing me in some way!”

“Alright, what did he do?” Hermione asks impatiently.

“Well, when we were at the New Year’s Gala he—” Harry scrubs a hand through his hair, realizing how it’s going to sound, but pressing on anyway, “He trapped me in a conversation with this horrible old wizard.”

Hermione looks at him doubtfully. “Is that all?”

“No! Well, yes, but you don’t understand. He was the worst! He spit on me, and he had bad breath, and he stood literally this close to me,” Harry says, demonstrating the distance with his hand, “And he kept banging on about his damn greyhounds, you have no idea how horrible it was. He was just like my Aunt Marge. You didn’t tell him about Aunt Marge, did you? Because that bit felt intentional.”

“No, Harry, of course not,” Hermione sighs, “That doesn’t sound that bad.”

“You weren’t there! You didn’t see how damn smug Malfoy looked about it.”

“Is that all he’s done?”

“No! You remember that article about me having all those wives and families in America? He was the, ‘inside source,’ and he snuck the reporter in so she could corner me.”

Hermione frowns. “That still doesn’t sound that bad, no one with any sense would believe that story, Harry. Besides, that article was in the Gatwick Gazette, no one reads that.”

“Well you saw how many times he hexed me at your graduation party! And all sly like he wasn’t doing anything so that when I pulled my wand on him I looked like I’d gone mad.”

“After you gave him the werewolf candy.”

“I didn’t think it would be that bad! George didn’t tell me he’d practically turn into a werewolf!”

“Harry…” Hermione says carefully, “I don’t think he was trying to torment you. It sounds like he was just trying to have a bit of fun with you.”

“Yeah? Well Malfoy’s idea of fun is not the same as my idea of fun.”

“Except you’ve been doing it to him too,” she points out.

Harry frowns. She has him there.

“Honestly, it’s not surprising it got out of hand. The two of you. I think you’re the most competitive, volatile men I’ve ever known.”

Hermione has a point, of course. Harry tries to deny it at first, but the more he thinks about it the more he agrees with her. Where Harry had been looking to humiliate Malfoy, Malfoy’s pranks had seemed fairly harmless. 

Naturally when they started Harry had assumed Malfoy was up to the same old tricks, and he hadn’t thought too deeply about it. In retrospect maybe it hadn’t been so bad, and maybe Harry had actually been enjoying it a little.

\- ~ -

Harry spends the next month working on his carpentry. By now the house was in fairly good shape, and he had finally found a place to make into a workshop. It was in a nice spot in London, near enough to a couple wizard shops that people would be familiar with the area, but far enough from Diagon Alley that he could work in peace. 

It took a while to do all the paperwork with the Ministry to get it registered and warded. And then he had had to buy all the Muggle machines he wanted to use in his process and have them installed. 

He had finally been able to start actually working on things, and it was a relief. He was still in contact with Rich and talked to him about the process, leaving out all the magic bits. Rich encouraged him to open his shop, but Harry wanted more time to practice. Now that he had spell books on woodworking he wanted the time to learn how to make things with a mixture of Muggle and magic methods.

At the end of July Molly throws a huge party for his 21st birthday, and it almost feels strange to be at a party without Malfoy. Harry pushes away the stray thought and focuses on the celebration—eating cake, opening presents, and having fun with his friends and family. 

\- ~ -

The next charity event comes mid September and Harry is on his toes the whole time. He expects Malfoy to try something, and so keeps a close eye on him. Strangely, whenever their eyes meet Malfoy doesn’t react. He doesn’t glare, he doesn’t even look annoyed, he just ignores Harry and looks past him as if he’s invisible. 

Is he behaving like that because he’s leading up to something worse? Trying to make Harry feel safe, and then drop a bomb on him? Harry wonders and waits and watches, but nothing happens. Malfoy moves through the event as normal, listening to the speeches, donating money, chatting up various attendees, and all the while pretending like Harry doesn’t exist. 

Harry checks his reflection periodically to make sure Malfoy hasn’t changed something that he wouldn’t notice otherwise, but he always looks the same. As the night goes on it becomes clear that Malfoy is not planning anything. 

Usually they at least greet each other at these things, so at one point Harry walks up behind him at the drink table and says, “Malfoy.”

Malfoy doesn’t turn or acknowledge Harry in any way before he starts talking to the witch next to him about the quality of the wine. 

Clearly snubbed Harry walks away feeling awkward and angry, his stomach squirming uncomfortably. 

By the end of the night nothing has happened. Malfoy has avoided him the whole time, and Harry gets home without being insulted, hexed, or antagonized in any way.

Harry hadn’t realized how accustomed to Malfoy’s asperity, disdain, and conceit he’d become until it was taken away and replaced with indifference. Empty, apathetic indifference. And somehow, that was worse.

\- ~ -

As the next month passes Harry focuses on his work. He practices making furniture and learns spells to make some of the work easier. Harry finds that he likes working with large slabs of rough, gnarled wood. He’ll cut off and flatten out certain areas for surfaces, then keep rugged sections of the trunk or branches and integrate them into the design as the base, or legs, or accents of whatever table, chair, bench, console, etc. that he is working on. It gives his work a naturally sculpted feel that Harry enjoys. He especially likes working with pieces that have big cracks or knots, figuring out how to make the imperfections become a beautiful part of the design. 

Harry enjoys being able to put his focus on crafting things again. It helps him clear his mind. It helps him not think of Malfoy, because when he thinks about Malfoy he feels like shite. And then he feels like shite for feeling like shite about Malfoy. Because it’s Malfoy, and he shouldn’t care. 

When Harry is with Teddy it becomes much harder not to think about Malfoy. They don’t bump into each other, but they don’t need to. Evidence of his presence is all over the house. It’s in the fancy toys they play with, and the wizard books Teddy wants to be read, and the night light Teddy makes him turn on when he’s going to sleep. It’s in the teacups left in the sink with the bags of white tea that neither Andromeda nor Harry drink. It’s in the citrus smell that pervades Teddy’s favorite, worn out blanket. It’s in that damn photo Andromeda puts on the fridge of Malfoy holding Teddy, both of them smiling at the camera, Malfoy looking relaxed and comfortable, and wearing his hair down.

Malfoy, Harry has to remind himself when he first sees the photo, Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. It’s Malfoy. Malfoy is not attractive. Malfoy is rude, and conceited, and spiteful. And probably up to something, knowing him.

At one of the Saturday pub nights Hermione is telling them how much her education has already helped her at her new position in the Ministry. After graduating she got a job in the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, with a specific focus on amending, creating, and repealing current laws and policies. 

She could have easily gotten the position without the added education, and Ron thinks she only went to secondary school because she liked school too much and was scared to move beyond it. Harry thinks there is probably some truth to that, but he isn’t about to say that to her face. 

“So what’s Malfoy doing with it?” Harry asks, keeping his face and tone carefully neutral and twirling his beer as if he really doesn’t care what the answer is. 

He feels Hermione’s eyes on him, but resists looking up at her.

Hermione hesitates, then answers, “He’s got an internship with um… A criminal investigator.”

Harry finally allows himself to look up and raises an eyebrow. “He’s actually working?”

“Of course he is,” she says waspishly.

“What investigator?” Ron chips in.

Hermione glances at him, then looks away. She picks up her glass and says into it, “Rob Harris.”

“Rob Harris? Did you say Rob Harris?” Ron presses, leaning forward.

“Who’s Rob Harris?” Harry asks.

“A deadbeat. A private investigator, used to be an officer in DMLE until he was fired,” Ron explains.

“For what?”

“Drugs, bribes, name it. He’s a pain in the arse, gets in the way of investigations, helps get slimeball criminals out of trouble.”

“That’s who Malfoy is working for? I knew he was involved in something shady!”

“He’s not involved in anything shady! Everyone deserves representation, no one deserves to be steamrolled by the DMLE if they are innocent, regardless of their history,” Hermione argues vehemently.

“Hermione, you’ve got to admit it’s weird—” Harry starts saying, but she cuts him off.

“No, it’s not weird, it’s a job,” she says firmly, “Honestly, Harry. Stop looking for excuses to hate him. You’ve done enough damage already.”

Harry frowns, but doesn’t argue the point. He knows she’s right anyway, and his stomach twists into a knot as he remembers the way Malfoy had looked right through him.

Ron changes the subject and talks about a case he’s working on, and Harry gets a new round of drinks. Hermione gets a cocktail that turns her tongue blue and it gives Harry an idea. 

\- ~ -

Harry is ridiculously nervous about the next event. For some insane reason Harry actually wants to try and make some sort of amends with Malfoy and maybe get him back into their pranking competition. He’s tried to talk himself out of it several times, after all it’s Malfoy, who cares if the git hates him? Malfoy hated him all through Hogwarts, there’s no reason they shouldn’t keep on hating each other into their adult life. 

Except Harry didn’t hate him anymore. He certainly didn’t trust him, and he wasn't happy about how he seemed to be pervading almost every aspect of Harry’s life, but distrust was a far cry from hate. And somehow Harry just doesn’t like the idea of Malfoy nursing a grudge for the rest of his life because Harry unintentionally went just a little too far with a joke.

Once again Malfoy is acting as if Harry doesn’t exist, and Harry spends the first half hour of the event watching him, looking for the right moment. It finally comes after Malfoy pops a canapé into his mouth and gets a bit of the spread on his finger. As he licks the drop of cream off, Harry discreetly casts a spell that turns his tongue blue. 

It’s small, and stupid, and hopefully not horribly humiliating in any way, but mostly it’s just something. Something to open a dialogue again.

Malfoy doesn’t notice until someone points it out to him later in the night. After they do, Harry glances over to see Malfoy finally looking at him. He’s glaring as he storms up to Harry.

“Really Potter? What is this?” He whispers sharply, “Another joke? What? Give me a blue tongue because I’m such a snake? Remind everyone how I was a Death Eater, because that's all I’ll ever be, is that it?”

“What? No! Fuck.” Harry rakes a hand through his hair. “That not—I wasn’t even thinking anything about snakes! It’s just your colour!”

Malfoy blinks, crinkling his brow. “My colour?”

“Yeah, your colour. You know, you look good in blue.” Harry flushes and regrets the words as soon as they are out of his mouth. God, did he seriously just say that Malfoy looked good? He didn’t mean it like that, he just meant that blue went well with his skin tone. And hell, he basically just admitted to thinking about what does and doesn’t look good on Malfoy.

Malfoy opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out, he blinks a couple times, looking a bit startled. Then he snaps his mouth closed, recovers his indignant air and says shortly, “I _know_ what looks good on me, Potter. I would go to a house elf for fashion advice before trusting _you_ with it.” He waves an irritated hand at Harry’s robes.

Harry looks down at himself, scrunching up his brow. His robes were fairly nice, they were fashionable but simple, not ostentatious like some of the things Malfoy wears. “What’s wrong with my robes?” Harry asks, looking back up at Malfoy.

The blond takes in a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly, as if preparing himself to explain something very complicated to a small child. “You have worn those same dress robes at every event you have been to for the past year.”

Harry feels a little startled that Malfoy would notice, but then inwardly chides himself. Of course the fashion prima dona Malfoy would notice if Harry wore the same outfit more than once. Harry just smiles and shrugs. “You know, funny thing about clothes—if you wash them, you can wear them again.”

Malfoy sniffs disdainfully. “Yes, but a little variation wouldn’t kill you, Potter.”

Harry’s not sure how they’ve gotten onto the subject of fashion, but he’s glad for it. Malfoy isn’t looking at him like he wants to kill him anymore, and he’s not pretending like he doesn’t exist, and he’s not mad about the tongue thing. Harry thinks that maybe they’ll be okay. And God help him, he actually wants things to be okay between them.

Harry realizes he’s smiling a little and quickly drops it. “Yeah, well if you wear the same dress robes more than once I’ll consider buying new ones,” Harry offers skeptically. 

That familiar, self-satisfied smile twitches up one corner of Malfoy’s mouth and his features seem to soften slightly as he regards Harry.

Harry licks his lips nervously, breaking eye contact and putting a hand through his hair. “Look, Malfoy, er,” Harry starts awkwardly, then rushes forward to get through it, “I’m sorry about the Battle of Hogwarts prank.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and his mouth opens a bit but no sound comes out. 

“I didn’t think it would be that bad,” Harry continues, “George said it would just make you act a little wild, and would pass quickly. I didn’t know you’d go all Scott Howard on me.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows drop in confusion. “Scott… Who—?”

“Right, Muggle movie, never mind that. I just mean that I wasn’t intentionally trying to make you act like a werewolf, or to mock any of the victims.”

Malfoy stares at him for a long moment. 

“Well. I don’t know what to say, Potter. I am gobsmacked.”

Harry smirks. “Wow Malfoy, I didn't know it was possible for you to be speechless. If I had known I might have apologized sooner.”

Malfoy snorts, and then gives Harry a strange, cautious sort of look as if waiting for a, ‘but,’ or a punchline to follow.

“Even the Chosen One can make mistakes,” Harry allows with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t doubting you ability to make mistakes, Merlin knows it’s a wonder you can even put your trousers on properly in the morning,” he quips, and there is the Malfoy Harry knows, “I was questioning your willingness to actually apologize for them.”

“I am capable of apologizing,” Harry huffs, “Seems like I do it quite a lot, actually.”

“Oh really? Because by my count this is the first time you have ever apologized to me. I think I shall mark it on my calendar. ‘The Day Harry Potter Apologized To Draco Malfoy.’ Maybe I can get it made into a holiday,” Malfoy says grandly with a big hand gesture, “I didn’t think you could put your pride away long enough to actually get the words out.”

“Yeah? You’re one to talk, Malfoy. The biggest thing you inherited wasn’t your manor, it’s your ego. You know, I think it might actually be the only thing you have me beat on.”

“Only because you always won by cheating,” Malfoy snaps.

“Cheating? _Cheating_?” Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes, Potter. Cheating. The deceitful violation of rules to achieve your own ends.”

“I know what cheating is Malfoy, I just can’t believe you’re accusing me of it after all the crap you pulled at school.”

“Anytime you couldn’t win on your own, you would get help from all your little friends, or the professors. The game was always rigged so that no matter what happened, you would land on top.”

“Getting help from a friend isn’t cheating, Malfoy. That’s called friendship.”

“No, Potter, it is cheating when you get help from George Weasley to pull a trick on me. As far as I’m concerned that puts me well ahead of you in this little game of ours,” Malfoy says, a smug smile on his face, those pale eyes sparkling with challenge. A jolt of excitement runs down Harry's spine at the sight of it.

“Oh I see, so throwing multiple hexes at me while my back is turned is alright, but I can’t consult the creator of a joke candy before giving it to you?”

“Those hexes were well deserved after what you did to me at Hogwarts. Trust you to use something without even knowing what it does,” Malfoy says with a roll of his eyes.

Harry sucks in a sharp breath, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to notice. The image of a wet bathroom floor turning red floods Harry’s mind. _No—No—I didn’t—_ the words ring through his mind. Harry can still see the scene today with crystal clarity. Sometimes it made an appearance in his dreams. Was Malfoy referring to that fight? He seems too calm and distracted, not what Harry would imagine him looking like if he was alluding to Harry almost killing him. Had he not meant to imply—?

“Thrilling as this conversation has been, I’ve just seen someone I have an actual interest in speaking to. See you around, Potter.” Malfoy flashes Harry a smirk and he knows then that Malfoy’s comment had not been an intentional reference to Sectumsempra. 

Malfoy hesitates when he sees Harry’s face.

Harry quickly changes what must be a horrified expression into something more neutral. “Yeah, until next time, Malfoy.” Harry watches him hesitate for a second, then sweep away with all his usual arrogant grace.

Harry lets out a relieved sigh and smiles faintly.

\- ~ -

In early November Harry finally gets up the courage to open his workshop to the public, and he is nervous about putting himself out there. He’d been writing to Rich about the process and Rich had helped to encourage him by telling him, “if you’re passionate about it then just do it and don’t let anything stop you,” as well as, “stop dancing around and open the damn shop already.” 

Harry knows the whole of Britain’s Wizarding World is watching and waiting to see what he is going to do next, and this is probably a lot less interesting than what anyone would have expected of him, but it’s his and he loves it.

The grand opening has a good turn out, aided no doubt by the advertisements Hermione had encouraged him to place in both the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet. Molly had made all the snacks for the opening, and had brought Arthur, George and Ginny to support him. Ron and Hermione show up of course, and later on Neville, Luna, Dean and Seamus all came to show their support. A fair few of the old DA members show their faces throughout the night, and Harry starts feeling more comfortable talking to people about his work and his process. 

By the end of it, Harry manages to sell several pieces and feels pretty good about it. It isn’t a lot compared to how many people had shown, but most of them probably came more to see the Boy Who Lived than to see his craft.

At one point Harry briefly wonders if Malfoy might show up, but he quickly pushes the thought away. Malfoy doesn’t come, and it’s a good thing because he’s already invaded Harry’s family life and social life, and Harry doesn’t want him involved in his professional life as well.

Harry slips back into his usual routine, only now he had a shop to open regularly. Traffic is slow, but Harry wasn’t expecting was what mostly a furniture store to receive a high number of customers daily anyway. In the first week he gets his first commission, and he happily throws himself into making a new bench for Molly and Arthur’s garden. Harry finds a rough, gnarled slab of acacia wood and leaves much of it’s natural, knobbly form in tact. It fits right in with the Burrow’s wild, overgrown garden.

\- ~ -

Six weeks after opening his shop Harry enters the 35th Annual Christmas Fundraiser for the Guiding Light Foundation. Harry had spent most of the day trying not to think about what trick Malfoy might play on him tonight. Usually they took their time about it, but barely ten minutes into the event Harry notices a stray lock of aggressively neon green hair fall into his face. 

Harry blinks at the hair, then grabs it and pulls gently to make sure it really was his. He picks up his knife and looks at his reflection in it, then grins. Malfoy had turned his whole head of hair a blindingly bright green. It’s meant to be horrible, he’s sure, except it’s not because Harry has tried so many times to transfigure his hair that he knows it won’t last. 

Harry laughs and looks for Malfoy, finding him a few tables over wearing light blue robes. Harry watches him and waits until the blond notices him. When he does, Malfoy gives Harry a small smirk which falls when Harry grins at him. The pale eyebrows twitch down in confusion, then Malfoy breaks their eye contact and continues the conversation he’d been in.

As the night goes on Harry doesn’t even worry about his hair, and only vaguely notes it going back and forth between green and black a couple times. When he sees Malfoy he looks aggravated and stiff, and he shoots nasty looks in Harry’s direction. When everyone is mingling after dinner and after the speakers have finished, Malfoy hunts down Harry.

“Not playing fair, Potty? I should have known.” Harry turns when he hears the familiar, cutting tone.

Harry leans back in his chair casually. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Malfoy.”

The blond rolls his eyes, pulls out his wand and sticks it in Harry’s face, pointedly changing his hair back to green. Then he tucks his wand away, glances around the empty table Harry is sitting at, and takes the chair next to him.

“I kept that blue tongue all night, now accept your punishment like the irrationally gallant Gryffindor you are and _stop changing it back_. I’m sure your fans will fawn over you regardless of how hideous your hair is. I mean really, it can’t get much worse,” Malfoy says and waves a hand in the general direction of Harry’s head.

“I haven’t changed it,” Harry says evenly, working to keep his expression as neutral as possible.

Malfoy raises his eyebrows, then drops them incredulously. “Potter.”

“Malfoy.” Harry fights to keep a straight face.

The blond lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “I have seen your hair change back to black exactly three times tonight, and I know it didn’t do that on its own.”

Harry’s resolve breaks and he starts snickering.

Malfoy glares at him. “What? I don’t see what—” he stops mid sentence as the green hair changes to black of its own accord.

Malfoy looks around suspiciously, then turns a questioning eye on Harry. He seems too caught off guard to be insulting and asks plainly, “How did you do that?”

“Malfoy, you chose to mess with the one unchangeable thing about me,” Harry says with a grin.

“What are you talking about?” 

“My hair does what it wants, you can’t cut it, you can’t colour it, you can’t transfigure it. It just,” Harry shrugs, “Changes back.”

“No, that can’t be true,” Malfoy refutes, “That doesn’t just happen.”

“Yeah, well, you just saw it yourself,” Harry says.

“Do you have someone helping you? You know that’s cheating, Potter,” Malfoy says stubbornly.

“I don’t! I swear, it’s the hair. You can’t change it.”

He squints at Harry suspiciously, silent for a moment. Finally, he seems to make a decision and pulls out his wand again, and Harry involuntarily tenses a bit as Malfoy points it straight at his chest. Malfoy flicks the wand wordlessly and Harry’s black robes change into the same horrid green his hair wouldn’t stay.

“There. Now you can’t tell me your robes can willfully untransfigure themselves, can you?” Malfoy says scornfully, “That might even be a step up, considering you’re still wearing the same bloody robes.”

“Well, like I said Malfoy, if you can wear the same robes more than once I’ll buy new ones,” Harry reiterates his challenge.

The corners of Malfoy’s mouth turn up in a slow, smug smile. He doesn’t reply, just watches Harry calmly.

That’s not the response Harry was expecting, and he frowns because Malfoy looks far too pleased. Harry squints at the other man’s robes. His soft, periwinkle blue robes with silver stitching that strike a familiar chord in Harry.

“Hang on, have you worn those before?” he asks slowly.

Malfoy looks like the cat that ate the canary, and he takes a sip of his wine, not even bothering to answer.

“Shite.” Now he needs to buy new robes.

“Let me know if you need help choosing your new robes, Potter. You’re obviously a lost cause, but I suppose I’m feeling generous tonight,” Malfoy drawls, nonchalantly checking his nails.

“Thanks, but I’ve seen how you would dress me,” Harry says dryly, gesturing to his neon green robes.

Malfoy gives Harry a small, mischievous smile, then takes a swig of his wine and lets his eyes wander around the room. 

Normally Malfoy gets away from Harry as soon as their conversation stalls, but tonight he hangs around for some reason, and it gives Harry the chance to study the blond. He looks a bit different than the last time Harry had seen him. He looks thinner, and Harry notices the hint of dark rings under his eyes that he had probably tried to cover with some charm. 

Harry had noticed across the room that he seemed tense, but he had chalked it up to frustration with Harry’s hair. Upon closer inspection Harry wonders if there’s more to it than that. Ordinarily at these functions Malfoy is all grace and confidence, but tonight he looks sort of rigid and distracted. Like he had during sixth year. Is something going on? Is Harry right about Malfoy being involved in some dark practice with that dodgy investigator?

“Enjoying the view, Potter?” Malfoy cuts into Harry’s thoughts with a sidelong smirk.

“What? No! I just—er, are you…” He hesitates. “Are you feeling alright? You look sort of…”

“Oh!” Malfoy gasps dramatically, throwing a hand over his heart, “Potter, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry says and shoves his shoulder. 

The wine in his glass sloshes dangerously close to the rim over his pristine blue robes and Malfoy raises his eyebrows at Harry in warning.

Harry rolls his eyes, inwardly cursing himself. He had just shoved Malfoy— _playfully_. What is wrong with him?

“I’m just wondering what you’re still doing here. Isn’t there some important so-and-so you need to go flatter?”

Malfoy shoots him a glare, tuts and says, “Clearly you need my supervision, otherwise you’ll change your robes while my back is turned.”

Harry snorts and shakes his head. “Right, I’m going to get a drink.”

Malfoy downs what’s left in his glass and holds it out to Harry. “I’ll take another of the Cabernet Sauvignon.” 

Harry glares at the glass, then at Malfoy. He sighs through his nose and begrudgingly takes it, and then turns and heads to the bar.

With a start it occurs to Harry that it had been just over a year now since he’d been back. A year of charity functions with Malfoy, and Christmas with Malfoy, and competing with Malfoy. A year of knowing he was babysitting Teddy and hanging out with Hermione. 

A whole year and nothing really bad had happened, they had had their arguments of course, but Malfoy had been around and it had sort of been okay. Teddy still loves Malfoy, Hermione still defends him, Andromeda still swears by him, and he hadn’t done anything suspicious that Harry knew of. 

Harry turns and watches the other man as he waits his turn to order. Malfoy is still sitting by himself where Harry had left him, arms crossed over his chest. He's chewing his lip anxiously and his shoulders are tense. It gives Harry goosebumps. Malfoy never shows any nervous habits, he's always so arrogant and cocksure. 

Something is off with Malfoy, Harry is sure of it. Even his derisive commentary seems subdued tonight.

A thought strikes him—maybe if he could get Malfoy drunk he would let slip what's going on. Harry gets their drinks and returns to the table. The blond takes his drink, looks at it, then pauses and narrows his eyes at Harry suspiciously. 

“Relax, I haven’t done anything to it,” Harry says and takes up his previous seat.

“I wouldn’t put it past you, we’ve already established that you’re a dirty cheat.” Harry rolls his eyes at him. Malfoy regards him a moment longer and then takes a careful sip.

Harry turns away and sips at his wine, glancing over to see Malfoy taking a deeper swallow. He catches himself watching the muscles moving in that slender neck and looks away. 

“So… You’re working? You know, now that you’ve graduated.” Harry almost asks him how work is, but at the last second remembers he’s probably not supposed to know about Malfoy's job.

The blond turns his head and raises an eyebrow. “You’re asking me about work?”

Harry shrugs, making an effort to keep his tone neutral. “Sure. Why not?”

He can feel those grey eyes studying him in the silence before Malfoy says shortly, “Alright. Yes, I am working.”

Harry waits and then watches as Malfoy takes another long drink of his wine. “Feel like elaborating on that at all?”

Malfoy looks sharply at him, then sighs dramatically in resignation. “I work in a criminal investigation firm. I handle the legal documents and proceedings of the clients. I advise them on their rights and obligations, Ministry law, Wizengamot procedure, what to expect at their trial,” Malfoy takes another drink and rolls his hand in the air as if gesturing an unspoken, ‘et cetera.’

The blond man glances at him, and Harry stays silent and watches him with mild interest, thinking maybe he’ll keep talking if Harry doesn’t say anything. 

After a moment Malfoy straightens his posture a bit and continues importantly, “I practically run the office, you know. The owner, Robert, is useless. I don’t know how he ever got on without me. Did you know, he didn’t even have a proper system for his files before I started there. Everything was just,” he scowls and flaps a hand irritably, “Hodgepodge stacks and unlabeled cabinets.”

Malfoy finishes off his drink and Harry sets his own glass of wine down, barely touched. “Want another?”

Blinking in surprise, Malfoy slowly hands over the empty glass. “Alright...”

Harry stands and goes to the bar, getting another glass of the Cabernet Sauvignon and delivering it to Malfoy. “You were saying? About the filing system.”

Malfoy gives him a strange look, then slowly starts talking about the organizational system he put in place. He already seems a little tipsy and Harry finds it rather easy to get him talking. Malfoy goes on for a while about how much smoother everything runs now that he is overseeing things. Harry nods and listens, prompting him at the right times to keep him going and feeding him wine whenever he runs out. 

The more he drinks, the more relaxed he becomes, and he starts to laugh and touch Harry’s arm as he talks. He tells Harry a few funny stories about things he’s seen since working there, and Harry catches himself getting lost in the moment and laughing with him. He has to stop and remind himself that Malfoy is up to something and he’s here to get information, not to have fun.

By the time the event comes to a close Harry has gotten Malfoy well past tipsy, but he hasn’t learned anything groundbreaking. Harry had gotten a better idea of the sort of work Malfoy was involved in now, but other than helping defend accused criminals and assisting his boss in the occasional investigation, it didn’t sound that suspicious. 

Malfoy had gotten off on a tangent about Pansy going into fashion and how she made many of his robes. Harry had a hard time reeling Malfoy back to anything important because then he remembered how Harry had made him spill red wine all down one of Pansy’s robes, and he became very indignant and wouldn’t let Harry change the subject. He went off on how it was all Potter’s fault that she had made him wear some, “atrociously orange muddle of fabric,” as punishment. Apparently, they could scarcely be called robes, and completely washed out his delicate complexion.

When Harry sees the house elves come out to start breaking down tables he stands and stretches. Malfoy glances around, screwing up his face in confusion.

“Oh, is it done already?” he asks, then stands up and immediately loses his balance, not seeming to have noticed how drunk he was until he stood up.

Harry reflexively grabs at his arm and steadies him.

“Oh, I…” Malfoy looks down at Harry’s hand on his arm, then up at Harry, as if suddenly realizing how drunk he was. “I _knew_ you spiked my drink! Cheater!” He shoves at Harry’s shoulder, then immediately grabs onto Harry’s arm as the effort pushes him farther back than it did Harry.

“I didn’t spike your drink, you’ve had at least six glasses of wine,” Harry explains.

Malfoy blinks and squints at him suspiciously, then looks around with a frown. “I don’t think… I don’t think I should apparate myself.” He takes a step closer and slides his arm around Harry’s, those long fingers closing around his bicep. Malfoy straightens and sticks his nose up imperiously. “Take me to my flat,” he commands.

The warmth of Malfoy’s body pressing into Harry’s side sends an involuntary shiver down his spine. The clean scent of citrus fills his senses and he swallows and tries to pull away. “I can’t apparate you home, Malfoy. I've no idea where you live,” he says, harsher than he means to.

“Oh, no.” Malfoy lets him go and glares at him. “No, you can’t take me there. You’d make a big mess of everything, like you always do.” He flops back into his chair. 

Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair irritably. “Malfoy, come on, they’re trying to clean up,” Harry says and pulls at the other man’s arm to get him to stand, “I’m sure they have a Floo connection here.”

Malfoy stands back up with a groan and Harry starts walking him across the room.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” he mutters and looks around for a fireplace.

Malfoy lets Harry tug him along, then protests quietly, “I don’t want to go back there.”

Harry stops and looks at him. “Go where?”

Malfoy looks up and meets Harry’s gaze, then seems somewhat sobered by it and straightens. “Nothing. Get off, Potter. I don’t need your help,” he snaps and pushes Harry away. He sways dangerously, then regains his balance and looks around. Spotting the fireplace at the other end of the room, Malfoy carefully makes his way to it.

Harry watches as Malfoy disappears in a swirl of green flames. He rakes his fingers through his hair, his arm tingling faintly where Malfoy had kept touching it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks to everyone who waited for this chapter, sorry it took a little longer! This chapter started to get a bit out of hand. I intended to end it further along in the story than it does, but it was getting too long and if I had ended it where I wanted it would've been double the size of the last chapter, and would have kept you guys waiting even longer for it. So I figured I should end it sooner and just get it posted. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry I wasn’t able to get this chapter out in August like I thought. Tried to get it done before I went out of the country for a bit but wasn’t able to manage it. Anyway, here it finally is. This chapter got really long, and there’s lots of angst, sorry about it.
> 
> I’ve updated the warnings and tags so please take care of yourself and check them. If you have any questions/concerns about the content please feel free to message me on here or on [tumblr](http://korlaena.tumblr.com/).

The following night Harry meets up with Ron and Hermione for their pub night. After looking around he spots them easily in his favorite pub at their usual table. As soon as he sits down Ron throws a page of the Daily Prophet at him.

“What is this?” Ron snaps.

“ _Ron_ ,” Hermione protests, but he waves her off.

“Rubbish, by the looks of it,” Harry says with a cheeky smile and then picks it up. “Oh.”

The front page of the paper is plastered with a picture of Harry and Malfoy sitting with each other at the Christmas Fundraiser. In the photo Malfoy has a hand on Harry’s arm, and he says something that makes them both laugh. Their interaction looks altogether too natural and relaxed considering who it involves, and the image makes Harry’s stomach twist uncomfortably. 

Somehow, despite being in his tailored robes with his perfectly styled hair, Malfoy looks loose and relaxed, and his smile lights up his face in a way that makes Harry’s heart beat a little faster. Harry has been trying not to think about it, but here it is right in his face again, the same smile that had kept him up late last night.

Harry doesn’t even read the headline and he doesn’t get a chance to before Hermione slaps her hand over the newspaper and crunches it into his lap, glancing around nervously.

“Harry, we’re in a Muggle place, put it away,” she says irritably, so Harry folds it up and shoves it into his coat pocket.

“Have you completely lost the plot?” Ron demands, looking at Harry in anger and disbelief.

“That—it’s not what it looks like!” Harry says defensively.

“Really? What is it then? Because it looks like—” Ron breaks off, swallowing heavily, his ears tinted red, “—it looks like you’re _flirting_! With _Malfoy_!”

“I was not flirting with him!” If Harry could explain then maybe Ron would understand, except that he can't with Hermione sitting right there. She would be furious with Harry for getting Malfoy drunk to try and wheedle information out of him.

“Are you friends with him now?” Ron demands.

“No! Ron! I swear it’s nothing like that.”

“Really? Then how do you explain that?” He jabs his finger toward the newspaper tucked away in Harry’s coat.

“It’s the Prophet! You know how they twist the truth, how they make things look wrong!” Harry argues. 

“That photo looks pretty clear to me.”

“That—that is one moment of the whole night! We were arguing minutes later. He was just, he was drunk, and telling me this funny story about one of his clients, this neurotic old witch that keeps transfiguring people into hats, and—” Harry realizes he is smiling as he recalls the story, and then stops when he sees the expression on Ron’s face. “It doesn’t mean anything. We go to a lot of the same functions, and yeah, sometimes we talk, but mostly just to insult each other.”

Ron crosses his arms and sits back in his chair, looking at Harry darkly and seeming to consider his words. “I thought you hated him. Why would you even talk to him?”

“I… I don’t. I don’t hate him anymore. I can’t, after everything…” Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t like him, but I don’t hate him.”

“Merlin. Am I the only sane one left?” Ron asks incredulously.

“Probably.” Harry gives a weak laugh.

“What is it with you and Malfoy, anyway?” Ron asks with a small frown, his tone now more curious than accusing.

Harry’s stomach drops, and he glances away. “What do you mean?”

“You always talk about him. You’re complaining about him, or you’re suspicious of him, or you’re asking Hermione questions about him. You have this weird game you play with each other at those fundraiser things you go to. It seems like you have more fun with him than you do with us anymore.”

“That’s not true!” Harry says hotly, feeling his cheeks starting to flush with warmth. Ron gives him a disbelieving look.

“Well, I for one am glad that you’ve made up with Draco,” Hermione says with a satisfied smile, and Harry does not like that knowing glint in her eye one bit. “Don’t mind him, he’s just irritable because of work.”

“Why? What happened?” Harry asks, desperate for a change of subject. He looks at Ron, but Ron still has his arms crossed and looks sullen. “New case?”

“Yeah,” Ron finally answers and looks away, annoyed.

“What’s the case?” Harry prompts. He knows Ron can’t resist telling Harry all about his work, usually saying more than he probably should. Harry knows Ron is proud to be an Auror, and it has been good for him to excel at something outside of Harry’s spotlight.

Ron still looks grumpy, but he starts talking anyway. “You know Anne Green? That girl that went missing on Thursday?”

“Yeah, I heard about that. You got her case? Ron that’s huge!” Harry enthuses, knowing this has to be the biggest case he’s gotten yet.

Ron sits up a little straighter and Harry knows he’s won. “Her parents are a nightmare. And I mean, any parent would be in their situation, but I’ve been working overtime since we pulled the case and then they come in and are screaming at us that we’re not doing our jobs and threatening to get help elsewhere. Now Robards is freaking out and breathing down our necks even worse than usual…” Ron releases a long exhale. 

They slip easily into the normal camaraderie they share, talking of work and family and swapping funny stories, and the Prophet article is soon forgotten.

Later that night after Harry gets home he takes off his coat. The crinkle of the newspaper in his pocket reminds him of its existence, and he pulls out the article. 

“Kraa!” 

Harry is distracted by hearing Orion calling from the stairs and he looks up, watching the raven hopping down the stairs as Harry starts walking up them. When he’s close enough, Orion jumps and scrambles his way onto Harry’s shoulder.

“Hey Rion, were you good while I was out?” Harry asks, smiling and petting him affectionately. 

“Hiii,” Orion says sweetly, mouthing at Harry’s hair.

“Oh, really? Trying to butter me up then? How big of a mess did you make?” Harry knows Orion only takes that tone when he’s guilty.

“Hiii,” Orion repeats and nips lightly at Harry’s ear. 

Orion had started mimicking words two months prior, much to Harry’s surprise. He knew ravens could mimic and had tried to teach him a few words before with no success. Eventually Harry had given up, figuring that Orion just wasn’t interested because he’d grown up as a wild raven. When Orion finally spoke for the first time in front of him, Harry’s first instinct had been to search his house for an intruder. 

Harry suspects Teddy is a large factor in Orion’s decision to start repeating words, considering his first one was ‘Coco.’

When Harry gets up to his bedroom he finds the floor is a mess of Orion’s toys—little cars, army men, bouncy balls, squeaky toys, and wooden blocks that Orion had been slowly but surely tearing apart piece by piece. 

Apparently Orion had also taken a piece of scrap wood onto Harry’s bed and ripped it to shreds, covering Harry’s sheets with splinters. 

With a small sigh and a lazy flick of his wand Harry sends all the toys back into Orion’s toy box, and with another flick locks the box. 

Orion caws loudly and jumps off his shoulder, chasing after the toys as they skitter across the floor, and then angrily tries to wedge open the toy box after Harry locks it.

“Come on Orion, no more playing, it’s time for bed,” Harry admonishes, waving his wand again to vanish all the bits of wood on his bed.

Orion caws loudly several times and flaps his wings angrily at the toy box. He always hates when Harry puts his toys away.

“No, Orion,” Harry tries for a sterner tone but can’t quite manage it in his tipsy state. It still seems to work though as Orion switches from cawing and flapping at the box to petulantly stalking around it, occasionally tapping his beak against it.

Harry sits on the edge of his bed and opens up the Prophet, looking again at the article about Malfoy and him. This time the title catches his attention before he can get distracted by the photo. 

_Playboy Potter Sets Sights on Malfoy Heir?_

Harry grinds his teeth as he reads through the article. Ever since his one night stand with the witch who sold their story, the Prophet had deemed Harry a playboy and reported on every rare occasion he had dated. Somewhere between the Witch Weekly article and the Gatwick Gazette article, The Prophet had decided that Harry had shagged half the Americas and had returned to England to steal the chastity of every innocent British witch as well.

The article questions Harry’s sexuality, which he had managed to keep a secret until now. It isn’t that Harry cares whether people know that he’s bi, it’s just that he doesn’t want them making a fuss about of it. 

The article goes on to speculate about the type of relationship Harry could possibly have with Malfoy. It cites many sources who had apparently witnessed the blossoming friendship between them. It even has quotes of people saying that they had obviously gotten very close since Harry’s return just over a year ago, spending time together at the fundraisers and often ignoring other important attendees in favor of the each other. 

The article tells of how Harry was seen to be getting Malfoy drinks all night and escorting him out at the end. There is, of course, the obligatory question of Harry’s sanity, but mostly the article cast questions as to Malfoy’s character—of the humanitarian work he has done since the war and his redemption in the eyes of the Boy Who Lived.

Harry sets his jaw and glares at the words, crinkling the paper as his hands clench around it. He’s not stupid. He knows what an article like this could do to Malfoy’s reputation. As much as Malfoy preens and acts the perfect socialite Harry hasn’t been blind to the times when other witches and wizard turn their noses up at him. Publicly being friends or more with Harry Potter would do a lot to improve his reputation. 

Harry can’t help but wonder if this article is a ploy, if it was planned out by Malfoy all along. Maybe while Harry had thought he was playing Malfoy, Malfoy had actually been actually playing him. He hates admitting how the thought of that makes his gut wrench.

Fuck. This is why Harry doesn’t read the Prophet anymore, why he doesn’t even have a subscription.

Harry runs a hand through his hair and then throws the paper on the ground. Orion excitedly runs over and attacks it, happily ripping apart his new toy. Harry tamps down the small pang of remorse he feels as he watches the photo of them laughing together getting torn apart. 

\- ~ -

A little after noon on Christmas Day Harry is standing in front of his fireplace hesitating. He exhales a heavy breath, his hand filled with Floo powder but unable to throw it into the fire. 

He’s not sure if he’s ready for another Christmas with the Malfoys. It’s not even that it was horrible last year, Malfoy and him managed not to fight, and Narcissa was aloof but polite. And being with Andromeda and Teddy for Christmas is important to him. 

Harry loves seeing his godson’s face light up when he opens his presents. He loves seeing Andromeda’s subtle but steady approval. 

But it’s weird. 

Spending Christmas with his old school rival and the wife of the man Harry had helped put in Azkaban for life is awkward.

“Kraa?” Orion asks from his shoulder, nipping at his ear gently.

Harry glances at the bird, then sighs and nods. He throws the floo powder into the fireplace and steps into it.

“Hawwy!” As soon as Harry lands in Andromeda’s living room, Teddy jumps up from doodling in his colouring book and runs at him.

Harry steps out of the fireplace and grabs the little boy, hauling him up into a hug. “Teddy! Happy Christmas!”

“There you are Harry, Happy Christmas,” Andromeda says, sitting on the settee next to Narcissa. 

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” Narcissa says with a small smile. 

“Andromeda, Mrs. Malfoy, Merry Christmas,” Harry says and puts Teddy down then ruffles his bright red hair. “Have you been waiting on me?”

“No, no, not at all,” Andromeda reassures him. “We only just finished prepping dinner.”

“Kraa!” Orion jumps off Harry’s shoulder onto the coffee table where Teddy picks him up and cuddles him.

“There’s some mulled wine in the kitchen if you’d like,” Narcissa tells him.

“Perfect, thanks.” Harry heads to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of Narcissa’s mulled wine. On his way out Harry notices Malfoy sitting in the dining room amid stacks of files and papers, his robes thrown over the chair next to him.

The curtains on the large windows of the dining room are pulled open and Harry can see that it’s snowing outside. Big flakes drift down thickly in a lazy decent. The blanket of white sets the backdrop behind Malfoy's hunched shoulders and fills the room with a cold blue light that makes him appear paler than normal.

Harry edges into the doorway of the dining room, scrunching his brow as he watches the other man writing intently. Malfoy looks haggard, worse than he did at the fundraiser. His pinched expression makes his face look thinner, and the dark circles under his eyes more apparent. A cup of coffee sits on the table next to his files, and he looks like he’s been working for hours on end.

Malfoy is dressed up in dark grey slacks, a matching waistcoat, and an eggplant purple button-up, but his sleeves are rolled up and the top couple buttons of his shirt are undone. His hair looks like it had been combed back initially, but several locks have since fallen free and are hanging down over his forehead. The disheveled state of his sharp outfit only serves to make him look even more frayed. 

Somehow Harry had never been able to picture Malfoy like this before. Hermione had said that he had worked hard in school. She had mentioned that they studied a lot, but even still Harry could never imagine the spoiled man working hard at anything. He finds himself oddly captivated by the sight.

Harry takes a drink and Malfoy notices him for the first time, head jerking up in surprise. His nerves flutter in excitement as grey eyes meet his.

“Potter,” Malfoy says, then frowns and gives Harry an annoyed look. “You’re late.”

“No, I’m not.”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” he snaps, his attention already focused back on his work.

“Yeah, I can see you’re right on the edge of your seat,” Harry comments.

Malfoy looks up long enough to shoot Harry a glare. “Does Andromeda want to start opening gifts now?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t say,” Harry shrugs and walks over to the table. “What are you doing?”

“Just—” Malfoy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Work.”

“Why are you working on Christmas?” Harry asks curiously, looking over the papers spread around Malfoy. Most of it is a mess of tiny script and legal documents that Harry doesn’t understand. 

Malfoy gives him a long, steady glare, but Harry isn’t fazed by it. “Because while the rest of the world may stop for the holidays, the Ministry reserves to right to move a trial around to any old time they please. If I don’t finish this prep tonight we’ll be screwed in the trial tomorrow. I'll be eating crow and get assaulted by MacGregor’s smug, poxy face _smirking_ at me all day. My poor, 78 year old client will spend what few years she has left of her life in Azkaban, rather than knitting mittens for her cats and being disappointed by her grandchildren never coming ‘round for tea. Not that anyone thought to mention it to me before last night, because, my God, who would ever think to alert a client’s solicitor to the fact that they moved her trial up?” Malfoy rants fiercely, scarcely taking a moment to even breath until he’s finished.

Harry can’t help but laugh and it causes Malfoy to look up at him sharply, brows furrowed.

“What’s so funny?” He snaps.

“Nothing, just,” Harry shrugs, “I understand. The Ministry tried to do the same to me before fifth year when I used magic in front of my cousin. Moved the time and place of my trial, tried to make me miss it.” He shakes his head at the memory.

Malfoy frowns, studying Harry curiously. After a moment he clears his throat and looks back at his paper. “Yes, well, the Ministry certainly is a beacon of _justice_ and _integrity_ , isn’t it?” he asks sarcastically. 

Harry huffs and smiles lightly in agreement. 

Malfoy is quiet for a moment, and then continues, “They did the same with my family, after the war—they rushed the trials.” His tone is sharp and a bit defensive, and one of his long fingers repeatedly rubs over a groove in the table anxiously. “They rushed all of the trials, really, most didn’t have time to form a proper legal defense.”

“I remember,” Harry says quietly. Malfoy’s hand pauses, then takes up writing again without further comment. Harry glances at his left arm, and though his sleeve is rolled up Malfoy has his forearm turned down against the table so the Mark is not visible.

“Of course if we’re talking about issues with the Ministry then we can only blame part of it on their inclination to twist the law in their favor. The rest is pure incompetence,” Malfoy continues on in that lofty, snobbish tone as if they hadn’t just touched on a very sensitive subject. “How the country isn’t up in flames this very moment, I’ll never know.” Malfoy speckles the table with small drops of ink as he gestures irritably, quill still in hand. “At least the both of us were smart enough to abandon any ideas of working for them. How unfortunate that we both still ended up with incompetent bosses.”

“I don’t have a boss, I work for—” Harry cuts off when he realizes his mistake. He sighs and then finishes lamely, “Myself.”

Malfoy smirks at him, then turns back to his work. He shuffles some papers around and as Harry looks over the labels on a stack of files he notices a familiar name.

“Anne Green? Isn’t that the girl that went missing?” Harry says, picking up the file.

“Yes, Potter, very astute,” Malfoy says sarcastically and snatches the file out of his hands before he can open it.

“What are you doing with that? The Aurors are investigating that case, Ron was telling me about it.”

“Believe it or not, Aurors aren’t the only capable investigators,” Malfoy snaps defensively, putting the file back where it was. He picks his quill up but his hand hesitates above the paper and he glances at Harry. His tone isn’t soft, necessarily, but it is lacking the usual bite when he adds, “The parents came to us. Many have lost faith in the Ministry since the war.”

Harry frowns, brow furrowed, but nods. It’s not surprising, Harry doesn’t have much faith in the Ministry either, though he’s not thrilled about the idea of Malfoy stealing Ron’s case. 

“Why do you have all these other files?” Harry asks, running his fingers over the stack and pushing it lightly so they spread and Harry can read the labels affixed to the tops of them.

Malfoy smacks his hand and Harry jerks it away.

While he’s straightening the stack of files Malfoy answers, “Because, ‘cases never stop!’ And, ‘inspiration can strike at any moment!’ If I’m not taking casework home with me everyday then I’m not a proper investigator—not that I even want to be. I told the old man to keep me out of this nonsense and let me handle the legal side of things, but does he listen to me? No, of course not. Senile old clod.” He rolls his eyes and Harry chuckles. The corner’s of Malfoy’s lips twist up in the hint of a smile.

Harry puts his free hand on the table and leans forward, looking at Malfoy’s work more closely. Even if he doesn’t want to be an Auror anymore he still finds the idea of solving crimes appealing. He had enjoyed his time working with the Wardens, after all, even if he hated the bureaucracy.

“Potter. I swear to Salazar, if you spill wine on these documents I will flay you.” Malfoy meets Harry’s gaze, grey eyes burning, belying his exhausted front. His voice is low and slow as he expounds on his threat, enunciating every word clearly, “Alive. Slowly, and exactingly. Strip. By. Strip.”

Malfoy's intense gaze sends a shock coursing down Harry’s body and he has to suppress a shiver from it. Harry licks his dry lips and swallows, then paints a smirk on his face. “On Christmas Day? That’s not very cheerful.”

“On the contrary, it would cheer me up quite a lot, so back off.” Malfoy’s eyes shift back to the papers on the table and Harry resists the urge to release a sigh of relief.

“Relax, Malfoy. Want a glass of wine?” Harry teases.

Malfoy shoots a glare at him and pointedly takes a drink from his cup of coffee.

Harry just smiles overly sweetly and watches as Malfoy turns back to his work with a sour expression. 

Harry sips at his wine, curiosity keeping him in place, looking over the photos and documents spread about the table and listening to the scratching of quill against parchment. 

After a long moment Malfoy’s hand pauses in its writing, and he looks back up at Harry hesitantly. “This is... strange,” he comments.

“What is?” Harry asks, brow raised in question.

“You. Being here. On Christmas.” Malfoy leans back from his work to look at Harry, a small frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Is it? And here I thought we had a, ‘special relationship,’ ” Harry quotes the Prophet article dryly. He can’t help making the jab, to say that the article had bothered him a little would be an understatement.

Malfoy grimaces. “Yes. That was… Unfortunate.”

“Please. As if you didn’t pay them to write that article,” Harry snaps, feeling the inevitable rise of anger that always accompanies being in Malfoy’s vicinity.

“I didn’t,” Malfoy snaps back, his brow furrowed. “I have a reputation to uphold, after all. I can’t afford to be seen consorting with the Golden Boy.”

“No, right, of course, Malfoy,” Harry says sarcastically. “What could you possibly gain from the world thinking that I’m friends with you?”

Malfoy’s shoulders tense, and his voice takes on a much sharper edge as he says, “Because Saint Potter is too good to be seen with the likes of a Malfoy? Death Eater Devil? Treacherous snake? Scum of the Earth?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Harry counters and glares at him.

“Do I? I rather doubt that being photographed with anyone else would bother you as much.”

“I don’t like being manipulated, Malfoy.” Harry sets his glass down, the action a subconscious product of wanting to have his hands free for a fight.

Malfoy raises a reproachful eyebrow. “You mean like getting someone drunk so you can interrogate them about their life?”

That catches Harry off guard and he darts a glance away guiltily, folding his arms over his chest. “I didn’t force you to drink.” 

“No, but you were plying me with alcohol to ask personal questions that I might not otherwise answer,” Malfoy accuses with a cold expression that makes clear how Harry isn’t fooling him.

Harry's not sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He studies Malfoy for a moment, brows furrowed, still cautiously suspicious but not entirely sure what to believe now.

Malfoy releases a long, frustrated sigh and scrubs down his face with both hands before leveling a steady look at Harry. 

“Potter, I have been awake for thirty hours straight. I don’t have the fucking mental faculties to deal with your self righteous idiocy and misplaced, although I grant you perhaps not entirely undeserved, suspicions. I swear to Merlin I had nothing to do with that ridiculous article. If I could go back in time and strangle that journalist before he published that article I would do so—quite happily,” he says, and then mutters under his breath, “You’ve no idea the trouble that bloody thing caused me.”

Harry frowns as he considers Malfoy’s words, wondering what he means by that. Maybe that his Slytherin friends had given him a hard time about it. Harry could see Pansy being particularly nasty. 

There’s something about the determined look on Malfoy’s face that makes Harry think he’s telling the truth. He has to fight down the enmity pumping through his veins to look at this clearly. 

Normally, when Malfoy pulls something over him he wants Harry to know—it’s not like him to deny it so vehemently, and Harry has to admit that it’s not unusual for reporters to attend those events. 

With a small sigh Harry unfolds his arms. “Okay,” he relents.

“Okay?” Malfoy echoes sharply, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah. Okay.”

They are quiet for a minute as Malfoy regards Harry with a hard, searching look, then he returns his attention to his work.

Harry watches him a moment longer, then picks up his drink and steps away. “Come on, I’m sure everyone’s ready for presents.”

“Mm,” Malfoy tones in acknowledgement.

Harry walks out the doorway then pauses when he notices Malfoy hasn’t moved. “Malfoy?”

“Yes, yes, I’m right behind you,” he mutters but doesn’t stop writing.

Harry sighs and goes back to the living room, finding Andromeda and Narcissa chatting on the settee and Teddy working in his colouring book. Orion is ‘helping’ Teddy by cawing and clumsily dragging a green crayon around one page.

Teddy jumps up when he sees Harry and says excitedly, “Hawwy! Can I open pwessies now?”

Harry glances at Andromeda and she nods her agreement. “Once Mal—once your cousin is ready we can. Why don’t you go get him?”

Teddy pouts and pulls at Harry’s jeans. “Gwanma says not to botha him.”

Andromeda smiles and encourages, “Go on, Teddy. You can go get him now.”

Teddy smiles brightly and runs out of the room. A few minutes later he drags Malfoy in by the hand. Harry notes that Malfoy has rolled his sleeves down.

Malfoy sits in one of the armchairs and Andromeda tells Teddy he can start opening his presents now.

It’s much the same as last year, Teddy gets the majority of the presents, mostly made up of toys, books and clothes.

Harry opens his present from Malfoy and is once again surprised to see such a nice gift. It’s a long, sleek, iridescent green quill, the same intense green of his eyes. It’s a beautiful gift, and he’s sure Malfoy intends it to look that way. 

“It’s charmed to be self-inking, anti-blot, and grammar-correcting,” Malfoy informs him loftily.

Harry runs a finger delicately over the feather, but can’t find anything immediately wrong with it. He eyes Malfoy suspiciously, then decides he’ll probably have to test it later to see how Malfoy has messed with it.

“Oh, it’s lovely. What kind of feather is that?” Andromeda asks after Harry shows it around.

“Quetzal. I had to imported it from South America,” Malfoy brags importantly.

Harry rolls his eyes and happily shoves his present for Malfoy into his hands.

Harry had gotten Malfoy a Gwenog Jones Holyhead Harpies jersey. Not just any jersey, not one of the cheap unofficial reproductions you’d buy your children in Diagon Alley. No, Harry had wanted to up his game after last Christmas and had talked Ginny into helping him get one of the official, limited edition League jerseys that cost an arm and a leg. 

Okay, so maybe Malfoy hadn’t been the only one to spend an absurd amount on a joke gift. Harry reasoned that next year he’d find something cheaper, but for now the grinding of Malfoy’s teeth and the vein throbbing on his forehead was well worth the effort. Harry only hopes Ginny won’t beat him too badly when she learns the fate of the jersey.

Harry knows the extra effort he put into getting the official jersey is worth it because no matter how much Malfoy hates the Harpies, he would never throw away such a prestigious item.

The gift is an obvious dig. Harry knows how much Malfoy hates the Holyhead Harpies and their captain, Jones, in particular after she’d led their team to win against Puddlemere United and kicked them out of the running in the last League Cup. The discussion they’d had about that game had gotten so heated they’d nearly come to blows. Harry had gone home that night feeling lighter and happier than he had in awhile.

“Thank you, Potter.” Harry is surprised that Malfoy manages to get the words out, even through gritted teeth. 

“You’re welcome. I remember you mentioning what a fan you are,” Harry says, smiling placidly in a way he knows will drive Malfoy spare. 

Malfoy runs his tongue over the top row of his teeth under his lips, probably fighting the instinct to incendio the jersey. Instead he forces a smile, sets it aside, and directs Teddy to the next present.

After all the presents are open Harry sticks around to play with Teddy awhile, and Malfoy goes back to his work.

When a timer goes off in the kitchen Andromeda gets up to check on the food and Narcissa moves to follow.

“Do you need help, Andy?” Narcissa asks.

“No, no, it’s fine.” She waves her off.

Narcissa settles back into her chair and watches Teddy with a soft expression as he plays with a set of dinosaurs Harry had bought him. Harry roars and growls the sound effects along with Teddy as their dinosaurs battle each other, then makes a death cry as Teddy’s tyrannosaurus eats Harry’s stegosaurus, eliciting much giggling from Teddy.

“You’re good with him,” Narcissa comments.

“Oh, er, thanks.” Harry blushes a little as he realizes how ridiculous he must look to her. “It’s not much of a feat though, he’s a good kid.”

Narcissa chuckles and Harry is surprised by the lovely sound. “Yes, that is true. He reminds me much of how Draco was at that age.”

“Really?” Harry asks in a low, skeptical tone before he can stop himself, then immediately realizes his mistake and tries to backpedal, “I—I mean, er—”

Narcissa cuts him off with another soft laugh that surprises Harry again and loosens the knot in his stomach. “Yes, really. He was the sweetest child when he was little. He used to rescue injured animals from the forest and bring them to the manor to nurse them back to health, much to Lucius’ chagrin.” 

A small, wistful smile curves the edges of her mouth and she is quiet a moment before continuing. “Once he brought a whole nest of baby ravens who’d lost their mother. Lucius was beside himself, absolutely did not want them in the house, but… I managed to convince him.” Her smile grows a fraction at recounting the memory.

Harry is taken aback by how candidly Narcissa is talking to him about Lucius Malfoy considering their history. Considering that Harry was at least partly responsible for his life-sentence in Azkaban. He doesn’t really know what to say, so he just nods and they sit in silence for a beat before Narcissa speaks again. 

“Did you know that ravens were used for sending letters before owls became popular?”

Harry blinks. “Uh, no, actually.” He feels like that’s something he probably should know, since he has a raven. 

“They lost popularity in the late 18th century when a rash of Stymph Plague swept through the island and earned quite a death toll. The prevalent theory was that ravens were carriers, and many started to view them as ill omens and bringers of death,” she explains in a sharp but compelling tone. It reminds Harry of McGonagall, and he thinks that maybe if Narcissa had taught History of Magic he might have retained some of it. “But there were some families who didn’t believe the superstitions and continued to use them long after. The Blacks were one such. We bred messenger ravens up until the early 20th century.”

“Really?” Harry asks, and Narcissa nods at him. “I had no idea.”

“It’s why we have ravens on our family crest,” she says and gives him a small smile, then takes a sip of wine.

“Oh. Huh.” Harry hadn’t even thought to wonder about it before.

“Yours is a common raven?” she asks.

Harry blinks. “Yeah.” 

“He’s pretty young?”

“Er, yeah. His Caretaker said he’s about five,” Harry answers automatically, again taken off guard by her accurate guess. 

There’s something about the way Narcissa speaks and holds herself. She has a soft and maternal quality, while at the same time there is something about her tone that brooks no argument—compelling Harry to want to answer while not feeling like he is being forced to. It reminds him a bit of Andromeda, actually.

“Hm, it’s a shame he doesn’t fly. He has such a lovely temperament too,” she muses.

“Yeah, I suppose he does,” Harry says and shrugs. “Well, he behaves when I take him out, but believe me, he still throws his fair share of tantrums.”

Harry chuckles and Narcissa smiles faintly at him, and then he starts to wonder where said raven got to. He looks back to Teddy and finds that the boy has started playing with a different toy since Harry’s attention shifted away from him. 

“I should probably get going,” Harry says, then opens his arms. “Come here, scamp.”

Teddy looks at him, then grins and jumps into his lap and they hug.

“Happy Christmas, Teddy Bear,” Harry says and kisses the top of his head. “I love you. I’ll be back in a few days and we can play dinosaurs again, okay?”

“Okay, wove you Hawwy.” Teddy gives him another tight hug then jumps out of his lap to keep playing with his new toys. 

Harry stands and stretches, then looks to Narcissa. “Merry Christmas Mrs. Malfoy, it was nice to see you again.”

She smiles delicately up at him. “Likewise, Harry. Happy Christmas.”

Harry goes to the kitchen and says goodbye to Andromeda, and when he goes looking for Orion he finds him in the dining room with Malfoy.

Malfoy is back to work, reading some document, and Orion is on the table next to him. Harry pauses in the doorway to watch them.

“Coco!” Orion insists of Malfoy and flaps his wings. “Coco! Coco!”

“You’re a nuisance,” Malfoy mutters and waves Orion away from his paper, but the hint of a smile curls his lips. Orion caws again and nips at Malfoy’s fingers. “Ow! Keep that up and I won’t pet you anymore.”

Orion caws softer and patters under Malfoy, lifting his head to bump it against Malfoy’s chin affectionately. “Hiii,” he says sweetly and circles under Malfoy, and when he still goes on ignored he takes a step closer to nip and pull at Malfoy’s waistcoat.

“Alright, alright, don’t damage the suit,” Malfoy says irritably, but his expression is soft as he runs a hand down Orion’s back. 

Orion leans into Malfoy’s hand and looks very pleased with himself. A warm sensation settles in Harry’s stomach as he watches the two of them interact.

Orion turns around and spots Harry, and Harry sees that he’s got something shiny in his mouth. Harry squints at it, it looks round and flat and… There’s a button missing on Malfoy’s waistcoat and Harry barely stops himself from bursting into laughter. He knows he needs to rescue Orion before Malfoy notices and turns murderous.

Malfoy looks up and drops his hand when he sees Harry walk into the room. 

“Come on,” Harry says, unable to fully smother his grin as he extends a hand over the table for Orion to jump onto. 

“Leaving?” Malfoy asks blandly.

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” he says, and Harry turns and starts to walk away before he adds, “Happy Christmas, Potter.” His tone is even and bored, like the kind of greeting Harry might expect from a dead-eyed customer service employee, but it still surprises him.

Harry stops and looks back, but Malfoy’s attention is focused down on his writing. “Yeah, Happy Christmas, Malfoy,” Harry says, then pauses. “I’ll see you next week,” he adds with a small, mischievous grin.

That gets Malfoy to look up, and he eyes Harry suspiciously. “I suppose you will. And if I see a Weasley Wizard Wheeze of any kind I will hex your bollocks off faster that you can say, ‘it’s just a joke.’ ”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry says and gets a glare for it on his way out.

Orion bobs his head up and down and Harry takes the button from him, stuffing it in his pocket and deciding to return it later when Orion isn’t within hexing distance of Malfoy.

Harry drops his presents at home then goes to the Burrow. It’s as chaotic as ever and Harry feels at ease in the familiar, rowdy environment. He laughs, and he smiles, and he can’t stop picturing Malfoy, hunched over his files, working on Christmas day.

He expects to see Terry Boot with Ginny, but apparently they broke up and now Ginny was dating some new mystery guy. It’s the gossip of the night, but somehow it doesn’t keep Harry’s attention from wandering back to Malfoy.

When he gets home later that night Harry sees the quill case as he is getting ready for bed. He picks it up and opens it, running his finger down the length of the feather. There has to be something wrong with it, there’s no way Malfoy would get him such a nice gift otherwise. 

Harry grabs a scrap of parchment and writes on it:

_Testing out your stupid quill, Malfoy._

Harry waits and watches, wondering what it might do. Then after several long seconds the words start to reshape themselves on the page.

_Potter stinks. Potter stinks. Potter stinks._

Harry snorts and puts the quill down. Of course Malfoy would get Harry the most extravagant quill he could find and make it completely useless.

“Grammar-correcting my arse,” he mutters.

Harry goes to bed thinking about Malfoy and the strained look about him, and not for the first time he wishes they were back at Hogwarts so he could use the Marauder's Map to check on him. He wants to know what Malfoy is up to. He wonders if he's still as Harry left him—hard at work, bent over his documents. 

He wonders what Malfoy would look like if it were Harry that had bent him over the table, his perfect hair disheveled and those plump pink lips parted in pleasure—No. Harry swallows and quickly pushes the thought away before his cock can take too much interest. He is not going to willfully masturbate to thoughts of Malfoy.

\- ~ -

Before the next event Harry buys new robes as promised, but he gets a set of nice yet simple black robes that are very similar to the ones he already has. He sticks Malfoy’s button in his pocket so he can return it that night.

When he walks into the Gala on New Year’s Eve he looks around for Malfoy and is surprised to see that for once it looks like he’s arrived first. Harry tries not to think about it, and he certainly isn’t watching the door when Malfoy finally walks in, twenty minutes late, just before the director of INHA begins his usual speech. 

Malfoy doesn’t look quite as bad as he did at Christmas, though he is carrying himself stiffly. His robes are silver with black lining, and though he’s late he still manages to look composed and unharried. Harry watches him for a minute, and, as if feeling his gaze, Malfoy catches his eye and starts moving toward him.

Harry shifts his weight and looks back to the speaker, but then he feels the hairs on his neck raise and he glances back to Malfoy, barely seeing the movement of his wand before he’s hit in the side with a mild stinging hex. 

“Ah!” Harry suppresses most of the yelp of pain, but still gasps loud enough to earn him a couple curious looks from the witches and wizards next to him.

“What the hell Malfoy?” He hisses through gritted teeth, barely managing to keep his voice at a whisper as Malfoy sidles up to him. 

“That’s for cheating last time, Potter,” Malfoy says blithely.

“Cheating? I wasn’t cheating, I told you—”

“Wild magic _is_ cheating. I can’t believe that nonsense still happens to you,” he whispers and rolls his eyes.

“How can it possibly be cheating when I can’t control it?” Harry asks irritably, rubbing his side. 

Malfoy just shakes his head in disapproval, then his eyes snap to Harry’s robes. He reaches over and runs his fingers under Harry’s lapel, rubbing his thumb against the fabric as if feeling for its quality. 

Harry swallows and tries to ignore the spark that the brush of fingers against his chest sends down his body. He watches as grey eyes move slowly all the way down his outfit and back up again. He suppresses a shiver.

“Really, Potter?” Malfoy says when his eyes travel back to Harry’s and he drops his hand. “I knew I should have accompanied you.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Harry asks with a waggish smile.

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “They’re hardly different from your old ones, as you well know. And all this black—if I didn’t know better I would think you were trying to emulate our dear old Professor Snape.”

Harry makes a strangled noise of offense and opens his mouth to retort, but they are shushed by an elderly wizard next to them and Harry settles for giving Malfoy a baleful glare and mouthing ‘git’ at him. Malfoy just gives Harry a smug smile before they both turn to listen to the speech.

Now that he’s not focused on Malfoy, Harry realizes that his heart is pounding and an excited rush is pumping through his body. A little hex, some back and forth banter, and Harry feels like he’s jumping out of an airplane again. Harry can’t help himself as he looks over at Malfoy to study his profile. 

Harry had spent all this time thinking that it was irrational anger that Malfoy caused him, and maybe it used to be, but not anymore. No, this feeling is elation, adrenaline, excitement. Being around Malfoy makes Harry feel alive. 

The realization is slow to formulate in his mind, but when it finally hits it hits hard. Harry had been measuring much of his time this last year in terms of when he would see Malfoy again, and what he would do with Malfoy. He goes out regularly with friends for quidditch, pub nights, hiking, and he enjoys doing all that, but those things are normal, predictable. Time spent with Malfoy is always different, and no one else banters with him like Malfoy does.

Harry’s spent a year thinking about Malfoy, talking about Malfoy, competing with Malfoy, and only really having fun with Malfoy. Ron was right, Harry does have fun when he’s with Malfoy. And he’s maybe even become a tad addicted to it. Maybe even as something of a replacement for his adrenaline chasing. 

Malfoy glances over, catches Harry staring, and quirks a questioning eyebrow up. Harry jerks his gaze away from the blond, feeling a light flush of embarrassment heating his cheeks.

Through the speech Harry sneaks glances at Malfoy, his mind a whirl of new and strange thoughts, all revolving around him. He starts to reassess a lot of the ideas he’s had about Malfoy over the last year.

Malfoy still looks a bit worn down, but for the first time it occurs to Harry that maybe he’d been wrong and Ron and Hermione had been right. Harry had spent the last year looking for trouble where there is none. Malfoy is probably just stretched thin from his work. Harry recalls the way he looked at Christmas and sighs quietly. 

Maybe it’s time that Harry gave up his old prejudices and look at Malfoy anew. He keeps being surprised by him and maybe the truth is that he doesn’t really know the other man like he thought he did. Everyone keeps insisting that Malfoy has grown up but Harry had refused to listen. Maybe it’s time for Harry to do a little growing up himself and let go of old grudges. 

Somehow, and seemingly without Harry’s notice, over the past year their interactions had moved past enemies into something different. They certainly weren’t friends, but neither were they enemies anymore. They were more like… Frenemies. But even that was starting to sound dangerously close to friends. 

Harry shifts back a small step and allows himself to really look at Malfoy while the other man is distracted listening to the speech. Harry has spent the last while telling himself that Malfoy is just objectively attractive, that his interest is purely physical, but that is becoming harder and harder to believe. 

He thinks about the casual brush of fingers against his chest, and the easy way Malfoy touched his arm when he was drunk at the Christmas fundraiser. It was more than just a regular touch, it stirred something in Harry that has been asleep for a long time. 

Finally, Harry is coming to realize that maybe his reaction to him is because somewhere along the way he’s actually started to like Malfoy. And with that comes the realization that Harry wants Malfoy to touch him again and in more intimate ways. 

But this is a dangerous line of thinking. Being physically attracted to Malfoy is one thing, but actually liking him is a whole other monster that Harry is not ready to deal with. Probably never would be ready to deal with.

Still, Harry can’t stop himself wondering if anything could even happen between them. Malfoy isn’t gay, is he? And even if he were, that would be a bad idea, right? 

As Harry mulls over the complications that a relationship between them would entail, he allows his gaze to drift over Malfoy’s frame. His robes are fitted and designed to compliment his lean form, and Harry finds himself admiring the elegant way the cloth hangs off Malfoy’s sharp shoulders and how the robes are a modern, shorter style that show off those long, graceful legs inside perfectly fitted trousers. 

Harry shakes himself from his thoughts and tries to focus on the speaker. He shouldn’t be thinking of such things now. He should probably never think of such things. He needs to switch his focus, he needs to—he needs to prank Malfoy.

With another surreptitious glance at Malfoy, Harry sees that the other man seems caught up in the speech and sufficiently distracted. Harry is surprised when everyone starts clapping, and he follows their lead, glancing back to the stage to see that the director has finished his speech. 

Moving quickly, Harry shifts back a step and slips a rolled up cloth Gryffindor lion from his robe pocket. As soon as the clapping starts to die down he brushes behind Malfoy, sticking the lion to his back with a subtle, nonverbal spell as he moves past him. 

Malfoy turns his head to raise an eyebrow at Harry, but Harry just gives him a nod and keeps moving. He spots a witch in the crowd that he recognizes from other charity events and heads toward her, striking up a conversation as if that was always his intention.

Harry spends the event like he usually does, drinking, donating money, and mingling as much as he can handle. The attention he gets now isn’t as suffocating as it had been a year ago; he was starting to see a lot of the same people at the events and his presence back in England had finally lost some of its interest. 

Subconsciously Harry is keeping track of Malfoy by glancing at him every so often in the crowd and watching him rub shoulders, chat up important witches and wizards, and snack on hors d'oeuvres. Harry notes that Malfoy isn’t drinking tonight as he usually does, but he isn’t very surprised by that considering how drunk Malfoy got last time.

Eventually Malfoy is going to notice the Gryffindor lion that Harry stuck to his back and he waits for that to happen. He keeps checking every so often for the telltale shock of blond hair moving rapidly towards him and raging grey eyes, but it doesn’t come. As the night wears on Harry starts thinking he might have to just point it out to Malfoy himself and then bask in the wave of fiery indignation that will surely follow.

While stuck in a conversation with Matchmaker Miriam—a nickname acquired from her persistent habit of trying to match influential witches and wizards with her many grandchildren and cousins—Harry’s eyes subconsciously seek out Malfoy. 

“You simply must meet my granddaughter, Sophia. Darling girl. She works at the Ministry you know, Magical Games and Sports. She’s always loved Quidditch, quite a talented Keeper. Young, too,” Miriam says suggestively with the same little smile and twinkle in her eye she always has when suggesting Harry date one of her many relatives. This is now the second granddaughter she’s suggested, along with a great niece and a second cousin. 

“She sounds lovely,” Harry humors her but has no intention of ever following up on it. He fingers the button in his pocket as his eyes roam the ballroom, and soon enough he spots the tall blond speaking to a middle aged wizard. Malfoy looks content, a small smile playing on his lips. His expression is open and interested, and Harry watches how animated his hands are as he speaks. 

Malfoy seems to be in a much more engaging conversation than Harry is. As Harry is wondering what they’re talking about, Malfoy notices something out the large floor to ceiling window next to him, glancing out of it and then doing a double take. Malfoy’s body stills and his expression drops, his face briefly reflects fear and then anger before becoming cold and closed-off. 

It makes the hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickle in warning. He furrows his brow and watches Malfoy excuse himself and then stalk away towards the garden doors.

“Er, sorry, loo,” Harry quickly interrupts the witch who is still trying to arrange a meeting with her granddaughter. 

He hurries after Malfoy, and as he passes it Harry glances out the window Malfoy had been standing next to, but he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

Harry slows when he gets near the exit, glances around to make sure no one is watching, then casts a Disillusionment spell on himself. He walks outside and looks around for Malfoy, spotting the white blond hair several meters away talking to a tall, dark haired man in a black robe. 

Harry moves a little closer, sticking to the shadows and getting just close enough that he can listen to their conversation.

“...already told you you can’t just show up like this!” Malfoy hisses.

“Why? Don’t want to be seen with me?” The man asks in an even tone.

Malfoy lets out a sharp, ugly laugh and then snarls, “I thought I already made myself perfectly clear.”

“Of course, wouldn’t want to hurt your precious reputation. Paragon Draco Malfoy, giving away all your money to the Squibs, and the Mudbloods, and the poor little orphans. Scraping the barrel to redeem the Malfoy name.”

“You know it’s not about that,” Malfoy spits.

“Isn’t it? That’s all you care about anymore. Play pretend all you like, Draco, but I know what you are, what you always will be,” the man says and grabs Malfoy’s left arm, yanking up his sleeve. Harry can’t see it from his angle, but he knows he’s exposing Malfoy’s Dark Mark. 

“Don’t touch me!” Malfoy growls and steps back, violently jerking his arm out of the man’s grip and tugging his sleeve back down.

“You’re overreacting, again,” the man says, his tone growing more impatient.

“ _I’m_ overreacting!? _You’re_ the one who—” 

“Come on,” the man cuts him off. “Aren’t you done with this charade? I’ve forgiven you, and I want to move forward. What about our plans, Draco? That’s what’s important. Not this.” He waves a hand toward the event. “They’ll never see you as anything different, no matter how much money you give or how many sweet old ladies you get acquitted. They don’t know you, they’ll never trust you. But I do.”

Malfoy’s hands clench at his sides. He doesn’t respond immediately, and the other wizard takes the opportunity to step closer and continue speaking in a lower toner. Harry shifts a little closer and strains to hear the words.

“How is your little chess game going? Is it working as well as you hoped?” His voice is low, but he speaks in a dangerous tone that makes Harry’s skin crawl. “How’s the little girl, Draco? Is she still alive, do you think? She’d have to be, if you plan on using her to playing the hero.”

“Stop.” Malfoy’s tone is sharp but his voice trembles just a little.

“Sorry love, am I upsetting you? You know it’s true. You can’t erase your history any more than you can erase your Dark Mark. They’ll never forgive you, no matter what you do. Or what you wear,” the man scoffs and gestures at Malfoy’s robes.

“What are you talking about?” Malfoy snaps. 

“A Gryffindor lion? Really? You must be desperate.”

Malfoy looks down at his robes, then over his shoulder at the back of them and mutters something that sounds a lot like, “Bloody Potter.”

“Potter?” The man gives a harsh laugh. “He’s here, isn’t he? Of course he is. Have you got _him_ fooled by your little act? You never could stop yourself going after him, could you?”

“You need to leave,” Malfoy growls, clenching his fists which are trembling slightly.

“Come on, Draco. You really think you’re going to get Potter?” he asks around a cruel smile.

“Stop! It’s over, William! I’m not going to keep having this fucking conversation with you again!” Malfoy yells, his body vibrating in anger, taut as a piano wire.

“See? You’re not even denying it now,” the man snarls. “Fine. You want Harry Potter so badly? I’ll serve him to you on a silver platter.”

Malfoy stills and then stutters out, “Wha—what? What are you going to do? William? William!” Malfoy reaches out to grab him, but he’s not fast enough and the other man disapparates. 

“Fuck!” Malfoy curses and runs a shaky hand down his face. He stands in place, breathing raggedly, clenching and unclenching his fists.

After a long moment Malfoy straightens his posture and smooths his hands down his robes, then stalks back to the gala. Harry waits a few beats before ending his Disillusionment charm and following him inside. 

Harry looks around and spots a head of white blond hair moving across the large room and is grateful for how easy it is to distinguish Malfoy from a crowd. Harry follows him out into the hallway, looking right and then left. He sees the door to the bathroom down the hall swing shut and pauses. He considers following but then decides against it. 

Back in the party Harry floats around in a daze, not really listening to anyone. His mind is on Malfoy and what he saw and heard. 

He’s up to something. 

Harry knew he was up to something, but now he knows for sure that he's involved with another Death Eater, or Death Eater sympathizer, plotting who knows what, possibly something against Harry. 

And what did the man mean by Malfoy using a little girl to play hero? What game is Malfoy playing? Has he been playing it all along? Was all this just some elaborate trap to earn Harry’s trust so that the next time Malfoy raises his wand against him Harry won’t reach for his own?

Harry swallows and runs his hands through his hair as he tries to process the information.

Somehow it doesn’t feel as satisfying now that he knows. He’d always had good instincts about these things, and when they were younger it felt like a victory when Harry’s suspicions about Malfoy turned out to be true. But now it just feels… disappointing. 

Images of Malfoy flash through his head, the Malfoy he had thought he was starting to know—the soft, affectionate babysitter; the funny, talkative drunk; the exhaustive, hard-working solicitor; his snarky, competitive companion at these events—and his suspicions leave a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Potter,” a familiar voice spits at him, interrupting his train of thought. 

Harry turns to see Malfoy walk up to him, scowling.

“If you’ve ruined another set of robes—”

“I haven’t, it’ll come off easy with a Finite. No damage to your robes,” Harry says numbly, trying to—well, he’s not sure exactly what he’s going for, but trying to force his face to look like something other than crushed or furious or betrayed, or any of the other emotions swirling around his constricted chest.

“It bloody well better or I’ll have your head on a pike. Or better yet, I’ll let Pansy know who’s been wrecking her robes and let her loose on you,” Malfoy snarls.

Looking at Malfoy now Harry tries to remind himself that he doesn’t like this man, that he never has, and that they are rivals, enemies even. His eyes are too small and calculating, his cheekbones too high and sharp, his nose too long, and his chin too pointy. His suspicious glare accentuates all these points nicely, reminding Harry that this is Draco Malfoy.

They definitely aren’t friends. Harry had been right to be suspicious of him and wrong to let his defenses down. 

\- ~ -

After Harry gets home he feels sort of strange and disoriented, like the world has shifted but he hasn’t shifted with it. As he passes by his mirror, Harry glances over and then stops, seeing his new robes reflected back at him. 

Harry yanks the robes off himself and chucks them in the direction of his laundry basket, not even watching long enough to see if they make it.

Harry tries to sleep but he can’t. He tosses and turns for a long time, then eventually says screw it and gets up. Harry throws the sheets off himself, grabs his glasses and pushes them on. He looks at the clock. 2:37. He sighs and rakes his hands through his hair. 

Reaching over, Harry opens the drawer in his beside table. He pulls out his mobile and does a quick calculation to make sure it’s not too late to call.

Harry scrolls down his contacts to Mark and then hesitates, his thumb hovering over the call button. He bites his lip, staring at the name for several long seconds, then flips his phone closed. Harry doesn’t want to be a bother, he’s never been good at reaching out for help and he always feels guilty calling Mark to talk about his problems. 

Since Harry had returned to England they had managed to stay in contact. Though it was usually only a few phone calls each month they easily maintained their friendship and Harry is glad for it. Mark is a good listener and he’s good at soothing Harry’s restlessness and irritation. His ability to stay calm and look at any situation objectively and from an investigative perspectives is very helpful.

Harry chews his lip then pushes up his glasses to rub his face. “Fuck,” he mutters, then opens his phone again. “Just call him, damnit.”

His thumb ends up hovering over the call button again, and Harry has to give himself a little pep talk. He reminds himself that Mark says that he’s always happy to hear from Harry, and he knows he’ll feel better if he can talk to Mark about what happened. Harry knows he needs an outside perspective on this because he’s driving himself crazy thinking about it.

Harry finally hits the call button and brings the phone to his ear, listening to it ring four times before Mark answers.

“Hey Harry,” he says pleasantly.

“Hey. What are you doing? Are you busy?” Harry asks a bit anxiously.

“Nope, just eating dinner.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I call back?”

“No, no, your timing is perfect. I’m just finishing up, so you can keep me company while I do the dishes.” 

Harry chuckles. “Oh, okay. Good. Perfect.”

“What’s up?” Mark asks. “Why are you still awake?” 

Harry gives a rueful smile. Mark always knows when something is bothering Harry, he has a real talent for reading people. It makes him wickedly good in the interrogation room. “Er, nothing. Just, I don’t know, couldn’t sleep and thought I’d call.”

“Hmm.” Harry can hear the smile in Mark’s tone, and he knows he isn’t fooling the Warden. “Is it about Draco?” Case and point.

Harry licks his lips and then sighs. “Yeah, actually, it is. Something happened and… I don’t know. I don’t know who else I can really talk to about it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m glad you called. Tell me what happened,” Mark says in that tone of his that is easy and relaxed, but also somehow compelling and authoritative. Harry calls it his ‘Warden voice.’

Harry takes a deep breath, flops back onto his bed, and then explains what happened. He tells Mark about why he followed Malfoy outside and everything he can remember of what he saw and heard afterward.

Mark listens quietly, letting Harry tell the story without interruption, and only injecting soft hums every once in awhile to denote understanding and show that he’s still listening. In the background Harry can hear the sound of the faucet running and the telltale clinking of dishes being washed by hand. 

“So you think Draco is or was involved in something dark with this other wizard?” Mark asks after Harry finishes.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry says, rubbing a hand down his face. “I kind of—I’ve wondered. You know, I thought he was up to something over the last year.”

“Yeah.” Mark knows, Harry’s talked to him about it enough times.

“But then I started thinking that maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was just seeing enemies where there weren’t any because of, you know, the war and… But then this happened and now I don’t know what to think.”

“You’re sure this man was a Death Eater?” 

“I think so, or at least a Death Eater sympathizer. The way he was talking about Draco, the way he grabbed at his mark… Why?”

“Hmm, well…” Mark pauses to consider his words and Harry hears the faucet turn off before he continues, “I’d be interested to know what sort of relationship Draco has with him. If it’s professional, or something more. Did they seem familiar to you?”

“Erm, yeah, I guess. Familiar, but not friendly.” Harry pauses and chews on his lip. “I guess I don’t know. I just—It raises a lot of questions…”

“You know who could answer all of those questions?”

Harry sighs, not liking that knowing tone in Mark’s voice. “You’re going to say Draco, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You should talk to him,” Mark says easily.

“I can’t talk to him about this. I—I eavesdropped, and if he is mixed up in something dark, or he’s gunning for me then I’d be alerting him to the fact that I’m aware of it,” Harry says anxiously, sitting up. 

“Sometimes that can be advantageous. And it sounds like whatever was going on between them Draco is trying to leave it behind now,” Mark says. “I think it’s worth it to talk to him. You don’t know the whole story, Harry, but everyone around you is telling you that Draco has changed. You said yourself that you started thinking they’re right, and that you two had grown friendly. If that’s the case then he deserves the benefit of the doubt. You can’t expect him to change if you don’t give him the chance to.”

Harry sighs. He drags a hand through his hair and then tugs at it in frustration. Mark’s probably right, but Harry can’t imagine confronting Malfoy about this. He would be furious and Harry has no idea how he’d respond.

“He could have warned me,” Harry points out quietly.

After a brief hesitation Mark says, “Yes. He still could. You should talk to him.”

Harry makes a frustrated sound and rubs at his eyes tiredly.

“However you decide to handle this,” Mark continues when Harry is silent, “I advise you to be careful. Regardless of motive or Draco’s involvement, it sounds like this guy intends to come after you in some form. Keep your eyes peeled, keep your wand handy.”

“Right.” Harry nods, swallowing and reflexively feeling under his pillow for his wand. 

“You’re still a target, Harry. Ireland proved that. Have any Death Eaters or sympathizers named William gotten out of Azkaban recently? Do you know anyone else who might have a grudge against you? Have you pissed anyone off lately?” Mark pauses to give Harry a chance to answer, then continues, “Look into it. Try to find out who this guy is. And tell Ron.”

Harry grimaces. He had already decided that he didn’t want to tell Ron or Hermione about this. He knows what Hermione would say, and he doesn’t want Ron to open an official investigation.

Sensing Harry’s dissent, Mark persists. “I’m glad you told me, but there’s really not much else that I can do. I only know as much as you tell me, and without being there I can’t protect you. Ron has the resources and he’ll want to know.”

“I know. You’re right. I just—I can’t. If the media gets ahold of this… ”

Mark is quiet a moment, then tries again softly, “It’s better than dying, Harry.”

Harry gives a short, humorless laugh at that. Only one of them knows what dying feels like, and Harry thinks wryly that he might actually prefer that to the Prophet.

This anxious sense of uncertainty, of fear and anticipation, has Harry on edge. He hates feeling like this. He thinks he’s already spent too much of his life in this state of alert. It’s comforting to hear Mark’s even breathing on the other end of the line, knowing that the Warden is there for him, waiting, a steady support.

In a flash of nostalgia Harry recalls the smell of Mark’s house, of his bed, of him. He misses the comfort and warmth of that solid body next to him. He misses that feeling of being safe, of being protected, of not having to watch his own back all the time. Whatever other issues they had in their relationship, Harry had always felt safe with Mark—a sensation he’d experienced precious little of throughout his life. 

“I miss you.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of them.

Mark sucks in a surprised breath, and then Harry can hear the wet sound of him licking his lips. He can clearly picture him doing it, the action a regular expression of his discomfort.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Harry starts to backpedal.

“It’s okay,” Mark cuts him off. “I miss you too.” Harry can hear the affection in his tone and knows the words are honest.

They had never expressed any regret to each other about breaking up before. They hadn’t ever even talked about their relationship since Harry had moved back to England. While their relationship hadn’t lasted very long it had been intense and concentrated. 

They sit in silence for a few beats before Mark breaks it. 

“Talk to Draco. Talk to Ron. Keep your wand close,” he says conclusively.

Harry gives an amused huff. “Okay. We’ll see,” he says, pausing, and then finishing sincerely, “Thank you, Mark.”

“Of course, Harry. Anytime,” he says. “I’m serious. Call me anytime. I expect updates.”

Harry laughs. “Alright, I will. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Harry hangs up and puts the mobile phone away. He curls back up into the sheets and tries to fall asleep, attempting to cling to the sensation of security he felt from talking to Mark.

\- ~ -

Over the next week Harry stews. He doesn’t know what exactly he should do about this new information. He wants to talk to someone about it, but he already rang Mark and doesn’t want to keep bothering him. 

He wants to be able to brainstorm with Hermione and Ron the way they used to, but he already knows that won’t go over well. Hermione will try to convince him he’s wrong and Ron will want him to bring it to the Aurors and start investigating Malfoy. Harry doesn’t want there to be any sort of official investigation, he just wants to know what Malfoy has gotten himself into and find out who the other wizard is. 

Following Mark’s advice, Harry looks into potential suspects. He goes to the Ministry and searches through their public records of who is imprisoned and who has been released recently. He looks through every record he can think of—Death Eaters, sympathizers, snatchers, suspected supporters, people who were suspected of dark activity but acquitted, people who had family ties to Death Eaters, anyone charged with hate crimes or violent crimes, every possibility he can think of—but he finds nothing. 

Harry hadn’t gotten a very good look at the other wizard, but he still thinks he could recognize him if he existed in one of the files. Despite there being many Williams within them, Harry does not think any of them are the man he had seen speaking to Malfoy.

Harry contemplates following Malfoy, but now that they’re not in Hogwarts anymore it’s not as easy of a thing to do. He doesn’t even know where Malfoy works or lives. He goes to work and tries not to focus on it, using his work as means to escape his own thoughts and concerns. He still keeps his wand on him at all times and regularly checks to make sure it’s there.

When Harry goes to Andromeda’s that Friday afternoon he takes Teddy to the park to get away from all the reminders of Malfoy in the house. That way he can avoid the picture on the fridge, and since after they get home Teddy falls asleep on the couch watching telly he doesn’t have to read him any wizarding children’s books. 

When he moves Teddy into his bed and tucks his favorite blanket around him, he catches a faint whiff of oranges that give him goosebumps. He ignores it and moves away, turning off the light then hesitating before turning on the nightlight. 

While he waits for Andromeda to return home, Harry sits in the kitchen and nurses a cup of tea with his back to the fridge. He thinks over Malfoy’s conversation with the strange man at the Gala for the hundredth time. It doesn’t all make sense and Harry needs to figure out what the man meant. 

Was Malfoy angry because they were fighting? Have they had a fallout, or was he just angry at the possibility of being exposed by the other man? What exactly had the strange wizard meant about ‘serving’ Harry to Malfoy. Is he going to attack Harry? Imperius him? Kill him? 

Or would it be something more subtle than that? Like befriending him and manipulating him into thinking Malfoy might be a decent bloke now and that they could be friends. Or that maybe they could be something more. 

Harry huffs and drag a hand through his long hair.

And what about the mention of the little girl? Were they talking about Anne Green? If so that’s something Ron should know. He should tell him, he knows he should, but Harry can’t bring himself to talk to Ron about this. 

What if he’s wrong? What if he accuses Malfoy of something and Malfoy never speaks to him again? Shouldn’t Harry be happy about that? Then Malfoy would finally be out of his life.

Harry’s hands clench around his mug and his old scar stands out stark white on his dark skin. _I must not tell lies._

Maybe Mark is right. Maybe Harry should just talk to Malfoy about it. Confront him directly. The war is over, and they aren’t at Hogwarts anymore. If there is any chance at all that Malfoy had changed and this is some big misunderstanding he should give him a chance to defend himself, shouldn’t he?

Harry lets out a long sigh and chews his lip thoughtfully. 

\- ~ -

The following night Harry gets ready to meet up with Ron and Hermione. It’s Ron’s turn to choose the place and he had decided on a new wizarding pub that just opened up last week. 

Standing in front of his mirror, Harry carefully transfigures his facial features, making himself look similar to a friend he had met during his travels in America. He’s used this look enough times now that Hermione and Ron will recognize him. 

He doesn’t bother with his hair, he knows he can’t do anything about that, but he hides his scar and then turns his head this way and that, examining his work and making sure he doesn’t look like Harry Potter anymore. As a finishing touch he pulls off his glasses and transfigures them into rectangular frames and then slides them back on. He gives himself a last once-over, then, feeling satisfied, walks out of his house and disapparates. 

The sky is dumping heavy, wet snow over the city, looking like it could turn to rain at any moment, and the sun has already dipped below the horizon when Harry appears in an alley close to the bar. 

He pulls his scarf more snugly around his neck as he leaves the alley and heads down the street. If he remembers the directions correctly it should be about a block away between a patisserie and a bike shop. 

When he sees the bike shop Harry looks around, then spots a red brick standing out of the grey wall of the building and brushes his fingers against it. 

“Bersabee Fons,” Harry says the name of the bar and watches the Muggle shops shift aside as the wizarding pub unfolds itself between them. 

The pub is warm and filled with the unintelligible chatter of its many patrons as Harry steps into it and looks for Ron and Hermione. He knows they won’t be in disguise, they had stopped doing it months ago and hadn’t had anyone bother them the way Harry still gets harrassed.

As he looks around Harry admires the aesthetic of the bar with its warm wood paneling and its red, shimmery fabric draped along the ceiling. The floor is polished concrete and to one side of the room sits the bar, which looks to be made of a rich cherry hardwood, and on the far side of the room is a low stage where a band of witches are playing something melodic and reminiscent of 1940’s jazz. The rest of the space is filled with tables and lined with booths.

While looking around the bar Harry comes to the conclusion that he’s gotten here first so he finds them a table. He takes off his scarf and drapes it over a chair, and as he starts taking off his coat Harry hears a familiar laugh cut through the din that raises goosebumps on his arms. He stops, his coat hanging half-off, and turns to find the source of that laugh. 

Across the room Harry spots that unmistakable platinum hair first, then his jaw drops when he sees who Malfoy is sitting with. Next to him on one side is Pansy Parkinson, not a shock, but on the other side is Ginny Weasley. 

Harry’s mind goes a bit fuzzy as he tries to process this information. What would Ginny be doing at a bar with Malfoy? And even weirder, as he looks further down the table Harry sees Neville, of all people, and someone else with their back turned to him with long blonde hair that Harry suspects might be Luna. 

A vague thought floats to the front of his mind, and Harry is struck by the memory of everyone gossiping at Christmas about Ginny’s secret boyfriend. Could it really be _Malfoy_? Harry’s stomach drops and he feels a wave of irrational anger claw around his chest. He tries to tamp out the sensation as he slides his coat the rest of the way off and throws it over his chair. 

Harry doesn’t even remember walking across the room when he stops in front of the odd group, staring at Ginny incredulously. “Malfoy? _Seriously_? This is who you’ve been dating?” He gestures toward the blond man angrily.

His accusation is met with a lot of raised eyebrows and confused expressions.

“Potter,” Malfoy says dryly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ginny looks at Malfoy, then back at Harry, eyebrows drawn in confusion. “Harry?”

“Yes! Yes, it’s me, of course it’s me,” Harry says irritably, having forgotten for a moment that he is in disguise. 

Pansy looks from Harry to Malfoy, and then bursts into that horrible, high-pitched laughter Harry had kind of hoped he would never hear again.

“He thinks—” Pansy says between laughs, “—that you—and her—” she wheezes and leans back in her chair, one hand clutching onto Malfoy’s arm, the other gripping her stomach.

Harry glares at the two of them, watching Pansy cackle and Malfoy smile at her conspiratorially before looking back at Harry with a raised eyebrow. When he glances at Ginny he finds her glaring at him. She opens her mouth to say something but Pansy talks over her.

“Potter, don’t you know he flies as straight as a snitch?” she jeers with a catty smile.

Harry feels a swooping sensation in his gut at the revelation. Whatever expression is on his face must answer Pansy’s question, because she continues without waiting for any verbal response. 

“Merlin’s saggy tits, Draco. What have you two even been doing at all those boring charity functions?” Malfoy jabs a pointy elbow into Pansy’s side and she yelps and shoves him.

“You’re gay?” The question is out of Harry’s mouth before he can think better of it.

“Obviously,” Malfoy drawls and rolls his eyes.

“That a problem, Potter?” Pansy asks waspishly, leveling a challenging glare at him.

“What? No! Of course not,” Harry answers quickly. 

Ginny snorts and mutters, “That’d be rich.” 

Malfoy’s head snaps to look at her, his expression questioning. Harry feels his face start to heat and turns a hard eye on her. She shrugs and smiles, but thankfully doesn’t elaborate. 

Malfoy raises an eyebrow at Harry, then says slowly, “Well, regardless of my sexuality, I’m offended you would think I could have such bad taste. You may have a thing for Weasels, Potter, but my standards are not nearly so Iow.”

“I’m really not into weasels either, Ferret Face,” Ginny shoots back at him.

“Oooh!” Parkinson crows, still hanging on Malfoy’s arm, and he kicks her under the table.

At that moment Blaise Zabini walks up with a round of drinks floating next to him. He glances at Harry curiously and then sends the drinks to everyone at the table with a flick of his wand. He sits down across from Ginny and gives her a curious look, and she reaches across the table and takes his hand.

“Oh,” Harry mumbles, suddenly feeling very self conscious with everyone looking at him.

Ginny looks up at Harry with a familiar, fierce expression on her face. “You can’t tell Ron. You know how he gets, and I’m not ready for the family to know. Please.”

Harry shakes his head. “I won’t, but,” he pauses to look around the pub and then continues, “Ron and Hermione are meeting me. They’ll be here any minute.”

Ginny’s eyes get a bit wider but she sets her jaw and looks back at Blaise, and they appear to have some unspoken conversation.

“We’re not leaving,” Pansy snaps, glaring at Harry as if daring him to try and kick them out.

“I’m not asking you—” Harry starts to get defensive but Malfoy cuts him off.

“Please, you’ll be fine. This is Weasley we’re talking about. He can’t spot a bludger flying at his face without Granger pointing it out to him. Ten galleons says he doesn’t even notice we’re here.”

Harry glares at Malfoy, but doesn’t get a chance to defend Ron before Ginny jumps in.

“Still better at spotting bludgers than you are at spotting the snitch.” 

Malfoy scowls and Pansy laughs at his misery. 

Looking back at Ginny, Harry can see that despite having a determined look on her face, there’s some measure of unease beneath it.

“Gin… You know, I could—er, do you want me to—” Harry gestures at his transfigured face. 

“Eloquent as ever, Potter.”

Harry closes his eyes for a second, trying to remain calm, slow his accelerating heart rate, and not react to the way Malfoy popped the ‘p’ in his last name, taking him right back to the hallways of Hogwarts.

“Oh, yeah, that would be—I mean, we hardly ever get to go out, and I really don’t want to have to leave. If Ron sees me with Blaise then, well, you know,” Ginny says.

Harry moves around the table and Ginny stands up. He gestures her closer, and they shift nearer to the wall, not wanting to bring too much attention to what they’re doing. Harry glances around the bar as he pulls out his wand. He still doesn’t see Ron or Hermione, but he does notices that the whole of Ginny’s table is watching them. 

Harry refocuses on Ginny and then studies her face. He searches his memory for features that would transfigure well on her, then decides on a friend he’d had in Florida. He concentrates on recalling how exactly she looked as he raises his wand and carefully alters Ginny’s facial features and hair colour. Having used it so frequently on himself, the spell is no strain to cast nonverbally on Ginny.

“Okay,” Harry says after finishing and tucks his wand away. “Should last you a few hours, at least.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Ginny says and pulls him into a hug. “I will tell everyone, when we’re ready.” She pulls away and looks Harry in the eye. “It’s just, well, you know how they are, and I’m happy, and—”

“I understand. I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Harry says, smiling and giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. 

Ginny sits back down at the table and Harry looks around the strange group again. Most eyes are on Ginny, except Luna.

“Oh, hi Harry,” Luna says as if just noticing him and smiles serenely. 

“Hi Luna,” Harry returns, and when Neville looks up he greets him as well. “Hi Neville.”

“Hey Harry,” Neville says, fingering the lip of his pint glass and looking a tad sheepish.

“Damn, Potter. _Thank you_.” Blaise leers at Harry and admires Ginny’s new look. He jumps when she kicks him under the table and then starts laughing.

Ginny chuckles a bit with him, then bites her lip and asks, “Honestly, it is weird?”

“All I can say is it’s a good thing Potter made you such a fox or I’d be looking to pull some other fiery redhead tonight.” Blaise gives her a playful smile and Ginny laughs.

“You are horrible,” she says, but she’s smiling brightly at him. “Maybe I should be the one hunting for a new man now that I’m out of your league.”

“Out of my league? We’re already in the all-stars, babe,” Blaise says, taking her hand and kissing it, making her laugh.

Malfoy and Pansy look at each other and at the exact same time they both mime gagging.

Ginny and Blaise are smiling at each other, seemingly unaware of anything else. Harry’s not really sure how to feel about it. Even in the few interactions he’s just witnessed between them it’s obvious there is real affection there. 

Harry thinks he should feel jealous or be more upset about it, but the truth is that he isn’t. A year ago he thought maybe he would want to get back together with Ginny, but he hasn’t made any real effort to make that happen and he’s happy with their friendship the way it is.

“Alright, well,” Harry says awkwardly, looking for escape. “Enjoy your, er—” He gestures at the table. “—drinks.”

“Ugh, don’t look now, here comes the rest of the Holy Trinity,” Malfoy drawls, and Harry looks up to see Hermione and Ron across the room heading toward them.

Harry frowns at Malfoy, hesitating just a second as his mind supplies him with an image of Malfoy talking to the mysterious dark wizard, and then he turns away and goes to meet his friends.

“Hi Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asks curiously when they get close enough.

“Was just saying hullo, our table is over here,” he says and motions in the direction of the table he left his coat at.

“Alright, I’ll be over in a minute. I’d like to say hello as well,” she says and heads toward Malfoy’s table.

“Is that Neville? I guess I’d better go too,” Ron says with a small frown. “Want to get the first shout?”

“Sure.” Harry orders drinks for them and then waits at their table. Ron is back first and they exchange a bit of small talk while waiting for Hermione.

After she slips into her seat she thanks Harry and takes a sip of her drink.

 _Did you know that Malfoy is gay?_ The question is on the tip of Harry’s tongue, and he only barely manages to bite it back, choosing instead to take a long pull of his pint. He chastises himself because the question he should be burning to ask Hermione is, _What is Malfoy up to?_ And, _Do you know who that other wizard is?_

Instead they start talking about work and settle into conversation easily as Ron starts in on his usual rant about his frustrations of having Michael Corner as an Auror partner. There still seems to be some weird, underlying tension since they spotted Harry at Malfoy’s table, and when Ron shoots him another curious glance Harry’s resolve breaks.

“ _What_?” He bites out. “Why do you keep looking at me like I’m about to explode?”

Ron grimaces and rubs the back of his neck, sharing a look with Hermione before saying, “Well, you know. Malfoy is over there.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So I’m just surprised you’re not… You know, talking about him or something. What with your obsession and all.”

“Do you want me to be obsessed with him?” Harry asks defensively, and Hermione puts a hand on his arm to try and calm him. “I can talk about him if you’d prefer that.”

“No, no that’s alright,” Ron says, putting his hands up. “Sorry, mate.”

Harry shrugs it off, and Hermione smartly changes the subject. 

_Fuck_ , Harry curses internally. Does he really talk about Malfoy that much? Is it that bad? Harry runs a hand through his hair and tries not to revisit that night at the Gala again in his mind.

He had no idea that Ginny, Neville and Luna were also friends with Malfoy now. Harry hides a frown behind his glass and takes a long drink of his beer, resolving to talk to each of them about Malfoy.

\- ~ -

That Sunday, Ginny and Harry give each other knowing looks over dinner and by a mutual, unspoken agreement they slip away the first chance they get.

“Thank you, Harry,” Ginny says once they’re far enough into the garden.

“Of course, Gin.”

“I want them to know, just not yet. George is still… I’m worried he’ll see any Slytherin as an enemy, even though Blaise wasn’t even in the Battle. And Ron will just be so overprotective, and mum…” Ginny sighs. “I think she’s still hoping we’ll get back together.”

“Yeah, sometimes I see her giving us these hopeful looks…” Harry says, rubbing the back of his head.

“Ugh, I wish she’d just stop, it’s been well over two years since we broke up,” Ginny says and rolls her eyes.

They walk in silence for a moment, and then Harry looks over at Ginny with a grin. “So, Blaise, huh? Did not see that coming.”

Ginny laughs and punches his shoulder. “Don’t you start on me.”

Harry rubs his sore shoulder but is still grinning. “Didn’t you think he was a pretentious prat in school?”

She gives him an exasperated look. “Yeah, but we’ve all changed since then, we’ve all grown up. And I know he puts up this playboy facade, but he’s actually a really great guy. He’s funny, and thoughtful, and—”

“Very fit,” Harry interjects and waggles his eyebrows at her.

Ginny laughs. “Harry Potter you better not hit on my boyfriend. I will kick your arse into next week.”

Harry laughs as Ginny shoves him. He stumbles a bit in the snow then shoves her back. 

“Yeah, you better watch out because I’m just sooo good with men,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“You’ve got a lot more notches on your belt than I do,” Ginny says with a smirk. “Pulling isn’t your problem, just keeping them.”

Harry makes a pained expression and throws a hand over his heart. “Ouch. Thanks, Gin.” 

Ginny smiles more softly at him. “Come on, you’re great. You know that, right?”

“Says the girl who dumped me,” Harry says in mock agony.

She laughs, then bumps her shoulder against his. “Seriously though, what about you? Any new developments in your love life?”

“Eh,” Harry shrugs. “I went out with Gareth a couple weeks ago. You know, that friend of a friend of Seamus.”

“Oh, you finally agreed to that? How was it?”

“Er, well… At first it seemed okay, he’s smart, good looking, but… I just didn’t get a very good feeling from him, he seemed a bit full of himself. Kind of felt like I was on a date with a peacock the way he was strutting about, showing me off.”

Ginny laughs then gives a sympathetic smile. “Ergh, really?”

“Yeah, it was… pretty embarrassing. And then after I walk him to the apparition point and give him a kiss on the cheek and a ‘goodnight,’ do you know what he says to me? He says, ‘Is that all I get?’ ”

“No! Seriously!?” Ginny exclaims, grabbing at Harry’s arm.

“Yep,” Harry says, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“What did you say?” she asks, looking up at Harry intently.

“I didn’t say anything, I was too shocked. Then he asks for a blowjob, right there in the alley. I tell him I’m not interested and he gets all offended and goes off insulting me, calls me a slag, says he’s heard all these things about how loose I am.”

“Merlin,” Ginny mutters, looking positively furious, her grip on his arm starting to get a bit painful. “What did you do?”

A smile grows on his face. “I told him I may be a slag, but I wouldn’t fuck him for all the tea in China. Then I went home and spent the rest of the night watching Supermarket Sweep with Orion.”

Ginny bursts out laughing and shakes his arm. “You really said that to him?” Harry nods. “Oh my god! I’m sorry, but that is brilliant.”

Harry laughs with her, glad he can at least brush off the nasty encounter and have a laugh about it with a friend. 

After their laughter dies down they look at each other and Ginny gives him a small smile.

“You know, there’s this really fit bloke that just started in Magical Games and Sports. Pretty sure he’s bent if you want me to set something up.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to take a break from the blind dates for a little while,” Harry says with a shake of his head.

She hums and rubs his shoulder sympathetically. “I know you’ll find the right person, Harry.”

Since the one-off he’d had with the witch that sold the story to Witch Weekly, Harry had tried to date a few people but he didn’t get very far with any of them. Sometimes he’d go to Muggle clubs to pull so he could fulfill that need while avoiding awkward dates and hero-worship. 

His friends had taken to setting him up with people they knew, and at least that seemed to help him avoid the crazier ones and the people most likely to sell the story to the papers. Even so, he has yet to find anyone who is really interested him and who could also see past his name and hero status.

“Sure, eventually,” Harry says, his mind wandering to Malfoy. He’s been working up to asking her about him. “Hey, Gin?”

“Hm?” They’d come up to the frog pond and she's distractedly knocking some snow off the bench there and casting a warming charm on it.

She flops down onto the bench and Harry sits next to her. “So, are you friends with Malfoy now?”

“Malfoy?” Ginny asks, looking at him curiously. “No. Not really.”

“But you went out to the pub with him?”

“Not with him, I went with Blaise. Malfoy was just part of the group. I mean, it’s fine. I’m not friends with him like Hermione is, but I don’t mind as much being around him now.”

“So you don’t think he’s… I don’t know, that he’s still…” Harry trails off, not exactly sure how to express what he wants to say without explicitly saying that he thinks Malfoy is up to something nefarious. He knows exactly the look Ginny will give him if she thinks he’s obsessing over Malfoy again.

“That he’s a pillock? A prat? A prick?” Ginny supplies and Harry laughs. “Well yeah, he’s still Malfoy. But I guess… He is better now too, I suppose he’s also grown up.” Ginny hesitates. “He apologized to me, you know, after you left. Honestly, I didn’t want to hear it. I spit it back in his face. Surprisingly enough he didn’t really react to it, just apologized and left.”

Harry raises his eyebrows and Ginny shrugs at him.

“I’d hardly seen him since then,” she continues. “I’ve only been spending more time around him since I started dating Blaise. They’re good friends so they go hand in hand. I didn’t like it at first, but he’s been nice. Well, as nice as a Malfoy can be.” She laughs. “But he’s been supportive of our relationship, in his own way, and I appreciate that. Why do you ask anyway?”

“I don’t know, I just thought it was weird, you know?” Harry says dismissively and shrugs, trying to play off his interest.

Harry isn’t really satisfied by her answer but he lets it go. They chat about other things for a while longer before the sun goes down and it starts getting too cold outside even with warming charms.

\- ~ -

On Monday Harry owls Neville and then, after getting his response, meets him at his greenhouse for lunch. 

“Hullo Harry,” he greets when Harry finds him tending to a gaggle of Screechsnaps.

“Hey Neville,” Harry returns.

“Just give me a minute to finish fertilizing these guys and getting them settled then we can go grab some food,” Neville says over his shoulder.

“No problem. How’s business been?” Harry asks and hoists himself up onto a nearby table, sitting next to a seed tray filled with little green sprouts waving at him.

“It’s great, things have really picked up this last year. We’re thinking about expanding, building another greenhouse and hiring more staff. Hannah’s been negotiating with Slug & Jiggers for us to be their main plant supplier.”

“Really? That’s fantastic!”

“Yeah, we’re very excited about it. It’ll be a huge boost to business and our reputation,” Neville says, glancing over his shoulder to grin at Harry before turning back to his work. “How business for you?”

Harry goes on for a while telling Neville about some of the more recent commissions he’s been working on and the struggles of running a shop by himself.

“You should hire an assistant, Harry, at least to run the front end.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hermione keeps telling me that too. I don’t know, it’s fine for now. It’s not like my little shop is bustling with activity. It’s mostly special orders, window shoppers, and looky-loos,” Harry says with a shrug.

Neville hums in understanding and they fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

Eventually Neville breaks that silence. “So, are you going to ask about Malfoy, or are you going to keep beating about the Flutterby bush?”

Harry starts and looks at the back of Neville’s head a bit wide-eyed before relaxing his expression and looking away. Well shite, how obvious was Harry being if Neville had noticed his interest?

“How did you know I wanted to ask you about Malfoy?”

“Just a feeling,” Neville says and shrugs. “The way you were looking at him on Saturday. Your sudden interest in catching up with me today.”

Harry rakes a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess I was just surprised. I didn’t know you were friends.”

Neville laughs. “I know, right? Who would have thought? He was such a twat in school.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Harry says, chuckling. “So how did that happen?”

“Well, he’s kind of different, now, you know? I mean, he’s still Draco Malfoy, but he’s not as nasty as he used to be. He’s funny, when you get to know him,” Neville says as he coaxes a Screechsnap to settle into the freshly fertilized soil. “After we graduated he came to me and apologized for his behaviour at school, for bullying me, and for a lot of what he had to do during seventh year.” 

Neville breaks from his work to look at Harry for a moment. “I figured if he was big enough to apologize, then I could be big enough to accept it.” He finishes with the Screechsnaps and stands up, brushing some dirt off his knees. 

“That’s generous of you,” Harry comments.

Neville shrugs and nods. He pulls his gloves off and walks toward Harry, picking up a water bottle from the table and taking a long swig. After he’s swallowed and wiped his mouth he continues, “He helped me get this business off the ground—put me in contact with the right people, referred clients to me when I was first starting out. His mother is a regular customer too.”

“Really?” Harry’s eyebrows draw up in surprise. He really can’t see any reason why Malfoy would do that.

“Yeah. It was a surprise, of course, but honestly I’m glad to be able to put all of the bad blood behind us,” Neville says as he starts walking toward the exit.

Harry jumps off the table and joins him. “So you’re really friends with Malfoy now?”

“Yeah, you could say that. I mean, we’re not especially close, but we’re friendly and we see each other often enough.” They get to the end of the greenhouse and Neville takes his coat off the rack next to the door. “Aren’t you friends with him too? You looked pretty friendly in the Prophet.”

“No, definitely not,” Harry says as he follows suit and shrugs on his coat. “Haven’t you learned yet not to believe everything you read in the paper?”

Neville chuckles and opens the door, talking over his shoulder as he leaves the greenhouse. “Fair point. I suppose it would be rather surprising if you were friends. You two really hated each other.”

“Right? Can you imagine?” Harry gives a tight smile and shoves his hands into his pockets. The bracing January air is a shock to step into after the muggy, artificial warmth of the greenhouse.

\- ~ -

The next morning, Harry owls Luna to see if she’d like to go hiking, something they normally did on the weekends once or twice a month. Usually they go out less frequently during the winter and he hopes she is available, but he doesn’t have to wait long before her northern hawk-owl delivers her positive response.

He dresses quickly in warm clothes and big hiking boots, then steps through the Floo with Orion and into the Lovegood’s living room fifteen minutes later. 

“Hey Luna,” Harry greets her.

“Oh, hi Harry, Orion,” Luna turns and greets them with a dreamy smile.

“Thanks for coming out with me, I’m glad you weren’t busy,” Harry says idly as he watches Luna slowly tying on what looks to be red silk ribbons onto a butterfly net that’s missing the net.

“Of course, I kept it clear for you,” she responds easily without looking back at him.

“Kept it?” Harry asks, stepping away from the fireplace and next to Luna.

“Yes, so we could go hiking today,” Luna says in that plain way she has of speaking of things she thinks are already obvious.

Harry furrows his brow in confusion. “But how did you know I would ask you to go hiking today?”

“The Blue Bargorcks fluttering about your ears at the pub on Saturday, of course.” 

“Blue Barg—what?” Harry asks before he can think better of it.

“Bargorcks. Did you not noticed them?” Luna finishes tying off the last ribbon and turns her wide, glassy eyes on him, and Harry shakes his head. “They only hang about someone like that when a person is really confused or conflicted. They feed on turbulent emotions, you know, and with the way you were looking at Draco it was quite clear how conflicted you’re feeling about him.”

“Oh,” Harry says dumbly, taken off guard by the absurd yet startlingly accurate observations Luna somehow can always make. “And that told you…”

“That you’d want to talk to me today about Draco,” Luna states as if it’s the most obvious conclusion.

“How…?” Harry stops himself and shakes his head, deciding to be happy for the turn of events and not question Luna’s thought process. “Well, yeah, actually.”

Luna smiles and hands him the butterfly net, picking up a second one and leading them out of the house. There are many trails not far from her home and they head along the creek toward one of them.

“Go ahead, Harry. I like talking about my friends,” Luna encourages him after they’ve been walking in silence for a few minutes.

So Luna does consider Malfoy a friend then. “How long have you been friends with him?”

“A few years now,” she answers with a smile as they walk past white fields covered in a thin layer of snow.

“A few years? But when did you even get to know him?” Harry asks incredulously. 

“When I was held prisoner in his basement,” Luna says in the same easy tone. Even after all this time Harry is still not used to the bald way Luna speaks about uncomfortable things.

“But…” Harry flounders, “How could that have happened?”

Luna shrugs and glances at him with a small smile. “We took care of each other at the Manor.”

“But _you_ were the prisoner,” Harry insists, not quite able to stop his tone going up a bit.

“So was he,” Luna says simply with a shrug.

Harry opens his mouth to refute that claim, but images of a younger Malfoy seep into his mind. Malfoy pale and shaking, coerced into torture. Malfoy crying in Myrtle’s bathroom. Malfoy looking drawn and fearful as he claimed not to recognize Harry.

It certainly takes the wind out of his sails. Harry heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair, unintentionally bumping Orion who had been pressed close to his neck for warmth. 

Orion caws irritably and flaps his wings at Luna, who pauses to take him off Harry’s shoulder and cuddle him into her chest with a bright smile. 

After a beat of silence Harry says, “I had no idea. Why didn’t you ever mention you were friends?”

“You never asked,” Luna says easily as she pets Orion with a gloved hand and the raven closes his eyes and caws softly. “I didn’t think you liked talking about him with me.”

She’s right, of course. Harry had intentionally avoided talking about anything with Luna that might remind her of her imprisonment. He had thought that he was being respectful.

“He likes you, you know,” Luna continues on in her serene tone. “He talks about you too.”

Harry snorts. “I think ‘like’ is a bit strong.”

“No, I don’t think so. ‘Like’ is a perfectly adequate descriptive,” she says with complete confidence. “I know you don’t trust him. You should give him a chance.”

Harry glances away, unable to hold her knowing gaze.

They walk in the silent stillness of the winter day, nothing but the sounds of their boots crunching the snow underneath them for a minute before Harry says uncertainly, “I did, or I was going to, but then he…”

“What happened?” Luna ventures gently after Harry trails off.

He considers it for a moment, considers telling her. If anyone were to keep the secret of what Harry saw at the New Year’s Gala it would be Luna. But he doesn’t. 

“I’m just having a hard time trusting him. Trusting that he’s sincere, that he is who he says he is now. How do you know he’s not still…” 

Harry pauses, and normally where someone else would try to finish his sentence for him Luna doesn’t. She walks beside him in silence and waits for him to finish his thought, watching him with her wide, thoughtful eyes. 

Harry swallows and finishes, “Mixed up with the dark arts or the wrong people again?”

A serene smile breaks across her face and she says confidently, “That’s easy. In his sixth and seventh years his aura was brakish brown, but I’ve since helped him cleanse it and now when we’re near sunflowers the Wossle Pockles land on his nose. Shy creatures, they are. They only land on gentle souls. In school he found validation through bullying, but I don’t think he ever enjoyed really hurting people. I don’t think he’d go back to it now, given the opportunity. It’s not in his nature.”

While Luna’s assessment is wrapped up in her usual strange beliefs and imaginary creatures, there’s some nugget of truth and wisdom in her words that comforts Harry and puts him more at ease than anyone else had been able to do.

The subject changes and they fall into easy conversation. After climbing a few hills and passing through a copse of trees they make it to a clear, empty field where Luna directs Harry on today’s activity of encouraging the mating of the Blibbering Humdingers that are supposed to live there. 

They prance in the snow while waving the butterfly nets without nets, twirling the silk ribbons around in the air. Orion joins in, jumping after them and sliding around in the snow. 

To an outsider it might look bizarre, and if anyone were to be watching then Harry would surely feel self-conscious, but by the end he’s breathless and grinning ear-to-ear. Luna always has a way of making the absurd seem normal and the ridiculous seem fun.

\- ~ -

_...You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder…_

Turning the chair leg around in his hands Harry runs his fingers over the detail work. It’s taken him a lot of trial and error to learn how to do the delicate carvings requested by his client for this commission, but it’s something Harry had been wanting to get better at so he is grateful for the opportunity. 

_You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older…_

He watches the clematis vines curl around the leg, growing and blooming just as he’s carved them to, before ending the charm. Satisfied, Harry sets the leg down next to the two others he’s already finished. 

_And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south, hide your head in the sand…_

It’s late, Harry thinks. Or it must be late, if the inky black squares of the sky framed in the skylights are any indication. He’s lost track of time again while working. 

_Just another sad old man, all alone and dying of cancer._

Pink Floyd plays in the background from Harry’s CD player tucked against one wall of his workshop, turned up fairly loud so that he can hear it over his work. He’s set it to rotate through several CDs so he always has something on while he’s working. Mostly his music is an eclectic collection of random albums and mixes picked up from friends during his travels.

Late as it may be, Harry wants to finish carving the last leg of the chair while he’s in the zone. He’s spent the last couple days holed up in his workshop putting all his focus into his current commissions and trying to not let his concerns about Malfoy and the other wizard get to him.

_And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown…_

Harry moves across the workshop to his storage closet and hears a scrabbling noise. He sees some blocks shifting about his scrap pile and then Orion pops his head out.

_And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone…_

“What are you doing in there? Troublemaker. You better not be destroying all my scraps, you know I still use those sometimes,” Harry tries to scold him, but he can’t keep the affection out of his tone.

 _And it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw around…_

“Hiii,” Orion says innocently, tilting his head.

_So have a good drown, as you go down, all alone…_

“Yes, hello, I see you in there. You know you have a whole box of toys just sitting out there for you, right?”

_Dragged down by the stone, stone, stone, stone, stone, stone..._

The songs shifts into a long instrumental part as the lyrics fade out. 

Orion just looks away from Harry and continues picking through the blocks of wood, finding one he likes and biting it.

Harry smiles and shakes his head. Orion mostly has free reign in his shop as long as he doesn’t damage any of his work. Harry has the machines warded so Orion can’t get on any of them and hurt himself, but it’s usually easy to keep an eye on him as he likes to stay near Harry, playing with his toys or extra pieces of wood.

The store is on the ground floor of the building where he displays most of his finished work, and a door in the back leads up the stairs into his workshop. Harry hasn’t bothered to close the shop yet and he often leaves it open at whatever odd hours he’s working. He figures as long as he’s here people are welcome to come in and look around.

Harry walks to his shelves stacked with all different types of wood. He takes a piece of the black walnut he’s ordered for this commission and looks down the length of it. Harry casts another glance at Orion, who cocks his head and caws innocently, then leaves the cupboard. 

He turns on the vent and takes the walnut board to the table saw. Pulling his work gloves out of his back pocket, Harry slides his fingers into the supple leather, refreshes an Imperious on his glasses, then tucks his wand away in his pocket and turns the power machine on. 

As soon as the board starts going through the saw the rich, earthy scent of the walnut wood fills the air and the machine sends little wood shavings flying out of it. 

_I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused, sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used…_

After pushing it through, Harry checks the board and sets the spare piece aside, then turns the saw off and moves to the jointer. Harry turns on the machine and moves the piece across it. He checks it, runs it through a second time, then feels down the fresh cut to be sure the bow is gone. 

_Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise…_

Harry turns the machine off when he’s finished with it and moves to the planar. He measures the wood and then adjusts the machine to take off a quarter of a centimeter and then puts the board in it. 

_If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?_

As he’s guiding the board through, Harry feels the tingle of his wards that tell him someone has entered his shop. He had to set the wards to give him a physical indication since he often had loud music and power tools running which made it hard to hear anything beyond a three foot radius around him. 

_Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending…_

Harry pulls the board out the other side of the planar and sets it aside so he can go greet his customer. He’s just wondering if it actually is a customer at this hour or Hermione checking in on him again when he feels the familiar prickle of alarm run down his spine, making the hair on his neck stand on end. 

_That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend…_

Harry whips around to see a cloaked man has walked into his workshop with his wand raised. Harry reaches for his wand, but the man fires off a spell that Harry has to jump aside to avoid. 

_And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner…_

“AAH!” The spell clips his leg and sends searing pain shooting up it. His wand flies out of his hand as he hits the floor. 

_And everything's done under the sun…_

Harry is stunned for a second but shakes it off and grits his teeth, pulling himself forward and reaching for his wand. His fingers just wrap around the handle of it when he hears an, “Expelliarmus!” and his wand flies out of his grip toward the stranger. 

_And you believe at heart everyone's a killer._

Harry rolls over to see the man standing over him, holding his own and Harry’s wand. The man is dressed in a black robe with the hood pulled up, masking his face in shadow. Just enough of his mouth is visible to see it raise in a sneer.

“You should have stayed in America, Potter,” he snarls, pointing his wand down at Harry. “ _Crucio_.”

The instant the curse hits Harry every nerve in his body is on fire and screaming in agony. He’s only vaguely aware of his body writhing on the floor as the curse rips through him in waves of the worst pain he’s ever felt in his life. 

He can’t think, he can’t breath, he can’t see. All he knows is complete and inescapable pain.

It feels like an entire lifetime passes. A lifetime of searing, hot blades driving into his skin and cutting him to shreds. 

Harry hears someone screaming, but it isn’t until the curse is ended and the pain dissipates yet leaves a soreness in his throat that he realizes it must have been him. 

As his senses flood back to him, Harry hears frantic flapping, cawing, and cursing, and he looks up to see Orion attacking the wizard’s face, clawing and pecking at any skin he can get to. The man has his hands up, madly trying to protect himself from the onslaught, then manages to grab the raven and throw him down onto the ground. 

He points his wand down and growls, “Confringo!”

“PROTEGO!” Harry throws out his hand and casts the spell wildly, instinctively, and relief floods his panicked system when he sees the curse rebound off of his wandlessly cast shield.

The blasting curse flashes past the wizard, nearly hitting him in the head, and he takes a sharp step back, looks at Harry, then turns and starts running out of the workshop. 

Harry’s wand is resting on the floor where the wizard must have dropped it and he grabs it. He glances at Orion to double check that he is okay before racing after his attacker. 

“STUPEFY!” Harry yells just as the man is running through the door from the workshop into the stairway. It just misses and blasts apart half the doorframe. Harry sets his jaw and sprints after him, feeling his heart pumping a fierce rage throughout his entire body and a need to stop him, to get revenge for what he almost did to Orion. 

Harry bursts down the stairs just in time to feel the tingling sensation of his wards and see the wizard step out of the shop. 

“Reducto!” The man casts over his shoulder, which Harry dodges and it shatters a bookcase next to him, sending shards of oak flying through the shop. 

“OPPUGNO!” His jinx causes three of the largest pieces of furniture in his store to go flying at the wizard. They crash through the large front windows and straight at the man’s back, but at the last second the wizard turns on the spot and disapparates with a crack.

A loud crash follows as the table, dresser and bookself smash into each other and send chunks of wood flying in every direction. Harry feels a swell of fury and disappointment as his attacker escapes into the cold night. 

He stands, panting, looking at the place where the wizard disappeared, his shop in shambles around him.

Harry takes three deep breaths, feeling his heart pounding a dangerous rhythm through his veins, and then turns and walks back into his workshop. 

“Kraa?” Orion caws softly as he hops to Harry. 

_Who was born in a house full of pain, who was trained not to spit in the fan…_

Harry swallows thickly and drops to his knees. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Harry casts a quick diagnostic charm, his hand shaking from the adrenaline and residual effects of being Crucioed. 

_Who was told what to do by the man, who was broken by trained personnel…_

The charm shows no damage and Harry sweeps the raven into his arms, holding him to his chest. “Don’t ever do that again!” he yells, his voice trembling with anger and fear. His eyes sting as all of the volatile emotions swirling through him come to a head. “Not ever,” he chokes out.

_Who was fitted with collar and chain, who was given a pat on the back…_

They stay like that for a long moment, Harry holding Orion, and Orion cawing soft reassurances, rubbing his head against Harry’s chin and nibbling at his fingers affectionately. 

_Who was breaking away from the pack, who was only a stranger at home…_

When he feels steady enough, Harry draws a deep breath and stands, shifting Orion under one arm. 

_Who was ground down in the end, who was—_

He waves his wand to turn off the lights and all the machines in his workshop. 

Glass crunches under his trainers as he walks out of the storefront, but he can’t think about repairs at the moment. Once they’re outside the wards Harry disapparates. 

At Grimmauld Place Harry strengthens his wards on the house. While he works his mind whirls with who might have attacked him and why. The first, and really only, suspects to cross his mind are Malfoy and the mysterious wizard, William.

He hadn't gotten a good look at his face, but he thinks the voice might be the same. His attacker hadn't said much, and Harry is too keyed up at the moment to be able to analyze it very carefully. But it's the only answer that makes sense.

The overheard words about Harry roll around his head, and all he can wonder is why? What motive does Malfoy have for attacking him now? He had seemed so… different. Harry ignores the sharp pain he feels when he considers Malfoy’s betrayal.

Harry finishes checking the house and updating his protective spells, and then he tells Orion to stay home. Harry needs to make sure that he is the only person who has been attacked, that no one else he loves has been targeted by—whatever it was that the wizard had planned. 

Harry wastes no time. He throws a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace and steps into it, wand in hand. “Tonk’s House!” 

He twists through the Floo network and then steps out into Andromeda’s living room with a fixed sense of purpose before stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

Blinking several times, Harry tries to process the quiet domestic scene. Harry was in battle mode. He was ready for a fight, he was ready for anything, except this. 

Lying on the sofa is Malfoy, asleep, with Teddy sprawled over his chest, also asleep, and lying on top is Mags—curled up on Teddy’s back like a cherry decorating the top of an ice cream sundae.

The only acknowledgement of his presence is Mags turning one of her pointed ears in Harry’s direction, and Malfoy sighing softly and curling his fingers, then relaxing them without waking up. All thoughts of Malfoy being involved in his attack suddenly seem so distant and utterly inconceivable. 

Harry feels frozen. All he can do is just _look_. Look at the way Malfoy’s pale hair falls over his face, and the way he has one arm wrapped around Teddy protectively while the other hangs limply off the couch. Beneath his fingers on the floor is an upturned book, as if they had all fallen asleep reading a story. Teddy’s favorite blanket is draped over them, but one of the toddler’s legs sticks out of it, as it always does, from him kicking the blankets half off in his sleep.

Harry feels strange. How is it that while he was being tortured and fighting for his life, in the same moment there were other people in the world safe and happy, falling asleep to bedtime stories? 

It seems surreal, and yet makes perfect sense. This is, was, and always will be Harry’s fate. It doesn’t matter what he does. He can’t ever have this sort of security and happiness because he is a magnet for violence, and death, and pain. 

Something swirls in Harry’s chest, an intense feeling of want—of desire for what is right in front of him, but also a deep despair and familiar despondence in knowing that it would forever be out of his reach.

That old, familiar pain is enough to shake Harry from his thoughts and get his head back in the game. He can’t feel like that. He dealt with it. It’s what he took a year away from his life to do. He shouldn’t be suffering from it again. And he has a job to do right now. 

Harry walks through the house, casting a Homenum Revelio which tells him that Malfoy and Teddy are the only other humans present, but he still thoroughly checks every room for any threats. 

He checks the wards and strengthens any weaknesses he finds as he takes a walk around the house, casting a wary gaze around the neighborhood. 

All looks well, nothing appears to be out of place. Harry is probably being paranoid, but he has already lost too many loved ones to take any chances. He has to be certain the people he cares about are safe.

On returning to the living room Harry again stops and stares. Malfoy looks so peaceful when he sleeps, so… vulnerable. It’s so unlike his normally carefully guarded self, and Harry wonders how many people have had the privilege of seeing such a rare sight.

Harry swallows and tries to push away the feelings of desire that have his stomach all twisted in knots. He can’t have these feelings for Malfoy. They don’t make sense. Malfoy might be involved in the attack Harry just survived. Harry doesn’t trust him, and Malfoy probably still hates him. It’s too complicated. It could never work.

He releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, then looks down at the book on the ground. A warm sensation floods his chest as he realizes it’s a Muggle book that Harry had given Teddy while Harry and Malfoy had had their little competition of trying to out-gift each other. 

Stepping forward Harry allows himself a small smile as he leans down and picks up _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_. Hearing Malfoy shift, Harry looks up just as pale eyes slowly open and focus on Harry. For the briefest second his expression remains relaxed and his mouth curves up into a soft smile, and then reality hits.

Malfoy starts violently and Mags leaps off them. “Morgana’s tits!” Malfoy curses. 

Harry straightens and sets the book on the side table. Malfoy’s gaze is shuttered, his mouth pulled down into a scowl, and that rare window of vulnerability is closed. 

“Potter! Don’t you ever fucking knock!?” he barks as he sits up and glares at Harry, bringing both his arms around Teddy to keep the sleepy toddler from falling out of his lap. 

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, tearing his eyes away from Malfoy to look at Teddy, who is yawning and rubbing one eye blearily.

“Hawwy?” Teddy mumbles.

“Hey Teddy Bear, did I wake you up?” The toddler nods sleepily. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to see you. Come here.” Harry reaches for Teddy and picks him up. Malfoy lets go of him without a fight but there is a question in his expression.

Harry ignores it as he wraps his arms around Teddy and holds the boy to his chest, turning away from Malfoy and starting to walk a slow circle around the living room. Now that the adrenaline rush has faded Harry can feel an unidentified pain in his shoulder, along with the pain in his left leg which has him limping a bit, but he doesn’t care.

He can feel Malfoy’s gaze on him, and he tries to quiet his racing heart and relax his taut posture. He fights the micro twitches in his muscles that follow a nice session of being Crucioed but can’t stop them entirely. He supposes it’s too much to hope that Malfoy doesn’t notice them.

“Harry? What’s happened?” The use of his first name is enough to startle him into meeting Malfoy’s gaze. “Are you alright?”

Harry looks away and doesn’t answer, he can’t handle the concern in the other man’s expression. 

Looking back to Teddy, Harry runs a hand over his brown hair. Teddy looks back up at him in sleepy confusion, blinking slowly.

“Are you in danger?” Malfoy asks carefully and stands. Harry notices that his wand is in his hand, but he doesn’t meet Malfoy’s eye. 

He chews his lip, not sure how to answer. Harry is always in danger. Harry has always been in danger. It doesn’t matter what he does, trouble always finds him. And shouldn’t Malfoy already be aware of his current threat?

The genuine concern he can see from Malfoy surprises him, and he feels a little guilty for automatically thinking Malfoy had a hand in his attack, but there is a small voice in the back of his mind that can't help wondering if it's an act. 

Is this just part of the plan? Torture Harry and then comfort him to gain his trust? But if so, could Malfoy really have predicted that Harry would end up here, at Andromeda’s house, after being attacked?

Why would Malfoy be here? For an alibi? For plausible deniability? Or did he really have nothing to do with it?

Malfoy is silent for a long moment, and Harry can feel those grey eyes watching him as he hugs Teddy to himself and circles the room, unable to sit still.

When Malfoy breaks the silence his voice is wary. “Are we in danger?”

“No,” Harry says quickly, stopping in his tracks and and meeting Malfoy’s gaze steadily.

Whatever the hell that was back there Harry is not going to let anything happen to anyone else that he loves. Especially not Teddy. Harry would throw himself at Death’s feet again if it meant keeping the little boy in his arms safe. 

In a suddenly moment of clarity Harry knows then why his parents had sacrificed themselves for him. He always knew that they did it because they loved him, but there is a difference between knowing, and _knowing_.

He can see the apprehension in Malfoy’s face ease before Harry looks back to Teddy, murmuring to him, “I love you. Do you know that?”

Teddy yawns and looks up at Harry, then his expression shifts from tired to worried. “What’s wong, Hawwy?” 

He’s such a sweet boy, and as much as Harry wants to see him sorted into his own house, he has a feeling Teddy will go into Hufflepuff, like his mother.

“Nothing Teddy Bear,” Harry tries to say softly, but his voice sounds rough to his ears, raw from screaming. He presses a kiss to Teddy’s forehead and says, “I just want you to know how much I love you. Okay?”

At first Harry had had a hard time verbally expressing his love for Teddy. It had been so absent in his childhood that it made him feel awkward and unsure of what to say, but it soon became as natural as breathing. How could he not love his godson? And how could he let Teddy grow up not knowing that he is loved? 

Harry has no idea what could have twisted the Dursleys into being so hateful that they couldn’t express even a modicum of affection for a small orphan, something so desperately important in a child’s development, but he was relieved to find that they had not bestowed that particularly horrible trait onto him.

“Okay,” Teddy says in a sleepy voice, giving Harry a little smile that sooths his raw nerves.

“I think—tea. Yes, I’ll make some tea,” Malfoy says to excuse himself and leaves so that Harry can have his moment with Teddy.

Teddy rests the side of his face against Harry’s chest, and Harry holds Teddy for as long as he can. It's not long before the boy falls asleep in his arms, so Harry puts him to bed. 

After turning off the light in his bedroom Harry watches Teddy for a moment longer. He can feel when Malfoy walks up behind him, and he glances over to see him lean against the doorframe, his gaze on the sleeping toddler.

They stay like that for a few minutes in silence, the soft glow of the night light forming stars that circle around the room in a soothing cadence.

“Come on,” Malfoy says quietly, shifting away from the doorframe. “Tea’s ready.”

Harry follows him to the kitchen where Malfoy hands him a mug of tea. Harry should probably leave, he needs to see Ron and Hermione, but instead he accepts the mug. 

He pauses for only a second before taking a sip of it, reasoning that if Malfoy wanted him dead there were probably much better ways to go about it. And he could really use a cuppa.

Harry is surprised to find that the tea is exactly as he likes it—builders with three sugars and a splash of milk. An unwarranted rush of affection swells inside him from the realization that there's someone out there who cares enough to know how he likes his tea and will make it for him when he’s at his lowest. 

Harry looks up into those pale eyes and again feels an ache from that small, neglected part of himself, buried deep, that longed for someone to see him, to _know_ him. To care enough to—What the fuck is wrong with him? He can’t think about that right now. Harry cuts off his dangerous train of thought and breaks eye contact, taking a swig from his mug.

“You’re bleeding, did you know?” Malfoy asks lightly, but his quiet tone still seems too loud, shattering the stillness.

Harry blinks, then shrugs as he takes another sip of tea, he hadn’t exactly had time to inspect himself for injuries.

Malfoy turns away and pulls a clean, white washrag from a cabinet, running it under warm water from the sink and then turning back to Harry. He clears the space between them in three careful strides and reaches toward Harry’s face with the rag. Harry instinctively moves his head back. 

Malfoy stops and raises an eyebrow at him, and when his hand extends forward again Harry doesn’t flinch away. 

Now he can feel the cuts on his cheek and forehead as the rag presses against them, but Malfoy is gentle as he dabs at them and cleans the blood from Harry’s face. As Malfoy leans closer Harry can smell the sweet scent of citrus, like freshly peeled oranges, and he takes a deep breath, feeling his pulse pumping a little faster.

Harry watches Malfoy’s eyes as the other man tends to him, admiring the patterns and the variety of shades that exist in them. He so rarely gets a chance to see Malfoy this close, and again finds himself marveling at how long and pale his eyelashes are.

When those grey eyes turn and catch Harry staring he has to fight down a blush. One corner of Malfoy’s mouth twists up into a small smile before he drops his hand and turns away.

As Malfoy picks up a vial sitting on the counter Harry takes the opportunity to drink more of his tea. He watches Malfoy press the lip of the vial to the washrag and pour some of the yellow liquid onto it. 

Harry recognizes the Murtlap Essence when the smell hits his nose, but he doesn’t complain when Malfoy turns back to him and presses it carefully into the cuts.

“You’ve got a shard of wood in your shoulder. I suppose you didn’t notice that either?”

Ah. That would explain what that pain was. Harry glances over his shoulder and sees a rather large splinter of wood sticking out of his skin. He looks back at Malfoy to find the blond staring at him incredulously.

“Bloody Gryffindors,” Malfoy mutters with a shake of his head. Harry can’t help but smile a little at that. 

Malfoy sets the rag down on the counter and looks at Harry, then he shifts his gaze to the shard, frowning as if it had personally offended him.

“It looks deep. You should go to St. Mungo’s. Murtlap Essence won’t do much for that.” His tone is clipped, but the concern is still present.

Harry shakes his head. “No. Just pull it out.”

Malfoy raises both eyebrows at Harry. “ ‘Pull it out’?” he echoes as if he's not sure he heard correctly.

“Yeah, come on, Malfoy. It's not that big. Just pull it out.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes, but he rises to the bait as Harry knew he would. He puts his left hand flat against Harry’s shoulder to steady him and then curls his right hand around the jagged piece of oak.

“On three then,” Malfoy says tersely. “One—” he abruptly yanks out the shard without waiting for three.

“AH!” Harry gasps in pain and surprise, doubling over the counter, then he grinds his teeth and glares at Malfoy. “Prick,” he mutters and slowly straightens.

“Moron,” Malfoy counters, putting the fragment of wood on the counter then picking the rag back up and pressing it to the wound to stem the flow of blood oozing out and staining Harry’s t-shirt.

Harry sighs and grits his teeth. “How are your healing spells?”

Malfoy glances at him, then focuses back on Harry’s shoulder. “Not my area of expertise. Again, I strongly suggest you go to St. Mungo’s.”

“It’s fine. Do you have a mirror?” Malfoy raises an eyebrow at Harry, but relents when Harry doesn’t back down. 

He draws his wand, and, with what Harry can only assume is a well practiced casting, swishes it and conjures an oval mirror roughly the size of his hand. Harry bites down a jab at the other man’s narcissism.

Once Harry can see the gash through the mirror it’s easier to cast a quick cleaning and mending spell on the wound. He watches as it closes itself up, only leaving behind a faint red line and a dull ache. Good enough.

“So. Did you blow up your workshop or something?” Malfoy asks airily, and Harry is honestly surprised it has taken this long to start the questioning.

“Or something,” Harry answers evasively. He can tell by his indifferent expression that Malfoy is actually burning to know more but is trying to seem unconcerned. When had he learned how to read Malfoy’s expressions so well?

Harry finishes off the rest of his tea and sets the mug down. “Thanks, Malfoy.”

Malfoy nods, but a small frown pulls at the edges of his mouth and there’s a crease between his brows. “You should at least see a healer for that leg.”

Harry glances down to see a gaping hole in the calf of his jeans and burnt skin beneath it. “It’s fine. I should go.” 

It isn’t fine actually, it hurt quite a lot, but Harry can’t remember the healing spell for burns since he hasn’t used it very often. 

He could handle the pain for now. After a Cruciatus all other pain doesn’t seem nearly as bad. 

Malfoy’s gaze darkens and he turns his face away from Harry. Just as Harry is turning to leave Malfoy’s hand slams down on the counter, making Harry jump. He turns to find the other man glaring at him fiercely. 

“Would you stop being the bloody Saviour for one minute!” Malfoy bursts out, throwing his hands up angrily. “You’re not invincible! You’ve clearly been in the wars and you need a proper seeing to! Not some half-arsed, home remedy spell straight out of _The Healer’s Helpmate_!” 

Harry blinks a few times, eyebrows raised, completely taken off guard by Malfoy’s fiery show of concern. 

It takes a minute for Harry to shake himself out of his shock, and then he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 

Harry glances away for a moment, then sets his jaw and meets Malfoy’s intense gaze. “I can’t, I need this to be kept quiet. If I show up at St. Mungo’s it’ll be all over the Prophet tomorrow.”

Malfoy visibly deflates a little, then crosses his arms and glares at a spot on the floor somewhere near Harry’s feet. 

He’s quiet a second before muttering, “Whatever, Potter.”

Malfoy looks back up at Harry and they hold eye contact for a minute in silence. He can't be sure, but he feels like he sees something in Malfoy's gaze that looks like remorse, or maybe guilt. Or maybe Harry is just projecting onto him.

Harry breaks the moment by turning away. He leaves the kitchen and Malfoy follows him to the living room. 

“Where’s Andromeda tonight?” 

“At the opera with Mother,” Malfoy answers stiffly, arms still crossed.

Harry nods, vaguely remembering Andromeda mentioning it to him last Friday. She should be safe then, in a crowd and especially with Narcissa. 

Harry stops at the fireplace and takes a handful of Floo powder. He glances at Malfoy to see the other man worrying his bottom lip. 

Harry feels like he should say something, but he’s not sure what else to say. He throws the powder into the fire and turns it a bright green.

“Potter.” Malfoy stops him before he can step into the fireplace. Harry looks over at him. “If something’s happened—if you need help, I—I can—I have the resources…” Malfoy trails off, his discomfort at offering help to Harry is obvious, but so is his sincerity.

“No. Thanks, but it’s fine,” Harry says haltingly, his response no less awkward. This is strange territory for them. 

Malfoy nods sharply but doesn’t seem happy about Harry’s answer. 

Harry steps into the fireplace and rides the Floo to Ron and Hermione’s flat.

And he steps right into another sweet, domestic scene. 

Ron and Hermione are on the couch together. Hermione’s leaning back reading a book, her feet stretched out across Ron’s lap. Ron is massaging her feet with this small, affectionate smile.

They both look up as the Floo flares and Harry steps out into their living room.

“Harry—? Oh my god! What happened!?” Hermione has thrown down her book and jumped up to run over to him before Harry can even take another step.

“Nothing, just—”

“Are you okay!?” Hermione worriedly cuts him off, delicately holding his jaw in both hands, turning his head this way and that before stepping back to look the rest of him over. 

She gasps and drops to a knee when she sees Harry’s leg, scrutinizing the wound.

“I’m okay. Are you guys okay?” Harry asks. The question feels a little silly considering how he found them, but he has to be sure. 

“Are _we_ okay? _Harry_ ,” Hermione huffs out half in surprise, half exasperation. 

“What happened?” Ron asks. He’s standing now, eyes traveling around the cuts on Harry’s face down to his leg. He looks concerned, but he also has this hard expression on his face, one Harry imagines he must have picked up from being an Auror. 

“I—” Harry’s not sure how or where to start.

When he hesitates, Hermione straightens and puts a hand on his arm, guiding him to the couch. 

“Sit down, tell us what happened. But let me get my healing book first.” After Harry is sitting, Hermione is gone in a flash of curly brown hair, and then is back again before either of them can say a word. 

“Do you know what spell hit you?” she asks, flipping through the book with a determined expression, her brows furrowed. Harry has to hold back a snort when he recognizes it as _The Healer’s Helpmate_.

“Uh, no, I didn’t—it was nonverbal,” Harry manages to get out as Hermione starts casting some sort of diagnostic charm.

“Mate, what happened?” Ron asks again and sits on the coffee table across from Harry.

“Well…” Harry runs a hand through his hair, avoiding both of their eye contact, and then he tells them. He tells them about how a wizard he doesn’t know broke into his shop—well he didn’t break in, the shop was still open, and _yes_ , he knows he needs to stop working so late, Hermione—and attacked him. 

He tells them about being Crucioed, about Orion intervening and almost getting killed. He tells them about how he chased the guy out of his shop. How he didn’t get a good look at him. How he has no idea who he is.

For a moment he considers telling them the whole story, but for some reason he just can’t. He knows Ron will go charging off to arrest Malfoy. He knows Hermione won’t believe him, will try to reason him through it, all the while looking at him with that skepticism in her eyes that he just can’t handle right now. 

He knows, okay? He knows it’s possible Malfoy had nothing to do with this. He knows his gut is telling him that he didn’t. But he doesn’t know for sure, and right now he has to keep moving forward and he can’t take the time to process it, to talk it out, or to get anyone else involved.

“Harry, we need to go to the Ministry so you can make an official report,” Ron says. Harry can tell how angry he is right now, how angry he is on Harry’s behalf, and it’s always something Harry has appreciated from him, but not what he needs right now. 

“No, absolutely not. You can’t tell them about this,” Harry says firmly, then winces a bit and looks down as Hermione starts casting a healing spell on his leg. 

She repeats the spell like a prayer, directing her wand rhythmically around his wound. 

“Harry—!” Ron tries fiercely, but Harry cuts him off. 

“No! I do not want this going public. Do you understand me? This stays between us.”

“But if something else happens you need protection. This needs to be investigated, the guy has to be caught!” Ron insists, throwing his hands out.

“I’ll be careful, I promise, but I need this to stay between us. I’ve finally gotten boring enough that the Prophet only writes about me every other day instead of everyday. I don’t want more attention brought to me. I don’t want them fabricating another enemy I have to face down to prove to everyone what a hero I am,” Harry grinds out.

“Everyone will know anyway once they see your workshop! It might already be out. Take me to your workshop and walk me through what happened, let me take an official report.”

“No,” Harry answers flatly, meeting Ron’s hard gaze with his own. 

“Harry…” Hermione starts softly, sighing and shifting herself up onto the couch next to him. She’s finished with his leg and already it feels better, but he doesn’t bother checking it.

“No,” Harry says again firmly.

“If anyone sees your shop it’s going to raise questions anyway. Why don’t we just go over there, Ron can investigate it quietly, and we can get it cleaned up?” Hermione offers reasonably.

Harry sighs and rubs a hand down his face. It’s just too much. Too many thoughts in his head, too many things to handle. “I can’t—I can’t think about this right now. I need to get back to Orion, I need to make sure he’s alright.” 

Each additional minute spent away from Orion was starting to feel heavier. He knows he needs to get back to him and comfort him through the trauma of what happened.

Ron and Hermione exchange a look and then Ron sighs and slumps a bit, defeated. 

“It’s okay, Harry. Everything will be alright, we’ll figure this out. We’ll take care of your shop. You just take care of yourself, okay?” Hermione says and rubs his arm soothingly.

“And tell us if you need anything from us. Do you want to stay here tonight? We can set you up on the couch, it’s no bother,” Ron offers.

Harry hides a wince behind his hands, resting his face in them with his elbows on his knees. He’s already done too much, asked too much of his friends year after year. He hates the feeling of being a burden, and he doesn’t want to burden them with him. With his problems. With his concerns about Malfoy.

“No, thanks, but it’s okay,” Harry says and drops his hands, then stands with a small sigh. “Thank you guys. For everything.”

“Of course, mate,” Ron says, his face still concerned. 

“You know we love you, right?” Hermione asks, standing and wrapping him in a hug, which Ron joins and for a moment they just hold each other in solidarity. 

“And we’re going to be checking on you,” Ron adds when they pull away. 

“Alright,” Harry agrees with a smile small, and then leaves before he can start feeling too bad.

Harry just has one more place he needs to check before heading home to Orion. He rides the Floo to the Burrow and goes through the motions. 

He’s standing outside staring into the distant hills after checking the wards when Arthur finds him. 

“Harry? Everything alright, son?” he asks as he approaches.

Harry still feels a warm ache in his chest every time Arthur calls him ‘son.’ 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, carefully avoiding answering the question.

Arthur stops next to him, squinting at what he can see of Harry in the pale light from the half moon. Harry can see some measure of concern pass over the worn features, but Arthur says nothing of his physical state.

“It’s pretty cold out here,” Arthur says in his roundabout way, “Come on inside, give this old man some company now that I’m awake.”

Harry certainly can’t refuse the request and he follows Arthur inside. 

“Don’t tell Molly, I’m not supposed to know where this is,” Arthur whispers conspiratorially as he pulls a bottle of scotch out from one of the cupboards, hidden behind bags of baking ingredients. 

“I won’t,” Harry says with a small smile. He watches Arthur pour out two nightcaps and then takes the offered drink.

They sip the scotch in silence in the kitchen. 

“Would you like to stay the night?” Arthur finally asks and sets down his now empty glass.

Harry can’t stop the small wince and tries to hide it behind his glass, taking his last sip to put off turning the offer down.

Arthur doesn’t wait for him before continuing on softly, “You know you’re always welcome here, and we’d love to have you. You’d be doing me a real favor, Harry. Molly too, it’s been too long since Ginny moved out. You know how she is, she thrives on taking care of others.”

Harry swallows, darts a short glance away, and then reluctantly gives in. “Okay.” He hates feeling like a burden, but how could he turn Arthur down when he phrases it like that while looking so sincere and hopeful?

Arthur grins and claps him on the back. “Wonderful! I know Molly will be happy to see you, and maybe with you here she’ll make a real breakfast again for a change! You know the rubbish she’s been feeding me these days. No cholesterol this, no salt that. She’s got a bit obsessed with my health since the kids left.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Harry says around an amused smile. 

“And somehow she always knows when I sneak a butty at work,” Arthur says remorsefully. “I’d give my left foot to eat real bacon again.”

Harry laughs. “I’ll make sure to request some tomorrow.”

“There’s a good lad,” Arthur says and grins. 

“I’ve just got to run home first. Orion’s there, and maybe I’ll grab a change of clothes,” he says and sets down his empty glass.

“Right, of course.” Arthur follows Harry toward the living room, then stops him when he says, “You know you’re always welcome here, right Harry?”

Harry looks back at him and nods. 

“And you can always talk to me about anything.”

Harry swallows and nods again.

Arthur gives a slow nod, pausing, then says, “Good. I’ll see you in the morning then.”

Harry waits until Arthur has turned and gone upstairs before he takes a minute to study their family clock, checking that everyone is where they should be before he leaves.

As soon as he Floos home Orion is all over him. He jumps onto his shoulder and caws and pecks at his ear. Harry pets him and reassures him, and after he goes to his room to change clothes he has something of a hard time with it because Orion won’t get off of him.

Standing in his room, for a moment Harry considers just staying, but he promised Arthur he would sleep at the Burrow so he returns. 

As he climbs the rickety stairs up to Ron’s bedroom, Harry feels lighter. Normally he hates asking for anything of others, but now that he’s here he can’t imagine staying the night in his big, dark, empty house. He needs to be somewhere that feels safe, somewhere that feels like home. 

For a brief moment he imagines his dorm at Hogwarts and his old four-poster bed. But that can’t be home for him any more. The closest he has is right here with this family that had taken him in as their own.

Even empty the Burrow still feels warm and alive and loved, so different from his own house. In some ways Harry has grown fond of Grimmauld Place, of its creaky stairs and squeaky door hinges, of the haughty old paintings and even Walburga who continued to shout racial slurs at anyone who forgot the cardinal rule and made noise in the entry hall. Harry had been tempted many times to break the entire wall down to be rid of her, but in the end he never followed through. 

While he’d been renovating the house, Harry had had vague plans of fixing the place up to sell it. It was such a big space, too big for him, and the complete opposite of what he’d grown up with. As a child he’d never had enough room, but now he had more room than he knew what to do with. He’d always thought he would enjoy it, but in truth it feels weird living in such a large space by himself. 

Harry still thinks about selling Grimmauld Place sometimes, but the biggest hangup is that he can’t bring himself to clean out Sirius’ room. Now most of the rooms in the house are empty and unused, looking clean and bright with fresh paint and new flooring. The only rooms Harry use are the kitchen, the living room, and his bedroom—one of many bedrooms in the house and the only reason he’d picked it was because it’s closest to the ground floor so he doesn’t have to hike up too many stairs every night.

As it is, after Harry’s renovations Grimmauld Place felt too clean and too stark. What it needs is a family to breath life into it and make new memories in it, happier memories. Still, Harry has a hard time parting with it because it had been Sirius’ and it’s what he had left to Harry.

As he settles into Ron’s old bed he can feel the history of the Burrow in such a different way than how Grimmauld Place feels. He can see the marks on the wall where Arthur checked off Ron’s height each year, can see a black spot from a stray spell, can smell the acrid scent still clinging to the walls from the Twin’s experiments.

There’s love and family written in every scratch and dent and chip. Whereas in Grimmauld Place Harry can only feel its dark history. Sometimes Harry could swear he can actually feel the marks that the presence of the previous occupants had left on it, of Sirius’ jailed frustration, of the pain of Regulus’ mysterious disappearance, and of the grief Walburga suffered when her husband died the same year. 

It had been worse before the renovation and is now hidden beneath layers of bleach and new paint, but still present. Sometimes he thinks he’s crazy for holding on to the house, and then sometimes it feels like the only thing that makes sense in his life.

But just for tonight Harry allows himself to leave Grimmauld Place and seek the comfort of home and family and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve started thinking of this fic as my Firstborn, not just because it’s my first Drarry fic, and not because I love it like a child, but because it’s grown up and started talking back to me. There were several major plot points I had planned out for this fic that it then decided it didn’t want, and I had to redo some of my outlines and scrap a lot of the rough notes I had. Because of this I’ve had to battle through some serious writer’s block on this fic, but I’m hoping now that I’ve had time to step back, reassess and reorganize that the following chapters will not take as long. I swear I didn’t intend for this to turn into George R.R. Martin like updates. Hope you enjoy this one, sorry for the wait, and see you guys next chapter.


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